’ She halted, her pistol still held firm and straight, both hands gripping it, her expressive features at once determined and uncertain. 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. And grasping the thick iron rod, she pushed with all her force against it, while Jack seconded her efforts from within. Through fire and water, through penury and pestilence, your hand will always be on his shoulder.
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