Not afraid of me, either. An old woman took her in. As he proceeded, other painful reminiscences were aroused. She knew that I cared for her, she had admitted that she cared for me. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. 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.
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