"But be prudent, my angel. Tell me about your island. Still, it was rather terrible to suspect that one had fallen from grace, but nevertheless the thing was possible. We went our ways. 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. "We have him!" cried Jonathan, hurrying down the steps. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe.
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