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. . She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. ". “Only it is much too late for you to be out alone. He was beginning to think about her inordinately. “I can’t.
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