He stamped his last letter as Annabel entered. “Why not?” Lady Lescelles answered. She had been obliged to wait all morning for the opportunity to talk to Martha, who chose always to retire to her cell for the period of recreation that preceded afternoon prayers. Once she had asked him: "Are you my father?" He had answered: "I am. 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. “Is that a challenge?” She shrugged her shoulders, all ablaze with jewels. Briefly explained, she was as the child who discards the rag baby for the living one.
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