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. Probably something he had eaten. I wrenched this off, and in an envelope addressed to me in faded ink, I found the locket and the pearls. In a convent, you understand, one is like a servant, even if one is a lady. .
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