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. I do not believe that there has ever lived a really great actress whose moral character from the ordinary point of view would bear inspection. Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well. ‘Lord, no! I’ve a better regard for my skin, I thank you. The work of plunder over, that of destruction commenced. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. I hate children. “It’s THE Society!” said Miss Miniver.
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