The latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted, into a chair. Silly woman!. Yet the thing hidden within her called and called. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. . 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. "No," replied Jack, peremptorily. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. My destiny, I am afraid, is going to lead me into the ruts. I say, I'll take the yarn over and read it to McClintock.
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