Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. . ‘When we met probably, and you threatened me at the first. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. Perhaps her granddaughter might marry his grandson. Mistresses neither deserve consideration nor commiseration. I set myself to find employment.
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