A widow for the fourth time, Mrs. "You are my prisoner, Jack. 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. And I wish you all the happiness in the world. It would have saved me much circumlocution, and you some suspense.
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