When I think of the love you give me—One ought to give you back love. We were to ransom you, then we would fake your death, play as if the kidnappers had executed you. 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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