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. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. A deadly sickness came over her, the room seemed spinning round. Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign.
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This video was uploaded to sportswearcatch.shop on 04-06-2024 07:40:14
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