“Nevertheless,” Hill said doggedly, “I am here to speak to you alone. For nearly thirty years he had lived here in contented loneliness; then youth had to come and fill him with discontent. And yet—I love you. They mean something. So am I. "Put it under my pillow," he said. 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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