Sometimes I take innocent lives. ‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment. 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. The room behind was another small antechamber, presumably linking the back rooms.
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