She walked back to the car. 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. Jesus! They just wouldn’t let up about you after you played the violin for them. P. ‘Must be still downstairs. ” “It is odd that this man at the hospital should call himself Meysey Hill,” she remarked.
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