If she was in a position to help him she would help him; only it happened to be the other way round. 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. That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. She must not show anything.
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