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. It is positively hateful to think of it. ’ ‘Forgive me, but if that is the case, I don’t quite see why you should run away. He cannot. ” “Can’t we go down into Italy?” “No,” he said; “it won’t run to that now.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjExOS4xMTcuNzkgLSAwMi0wNi0yMDI0IDAzOjM0OjU2IC0gNjkwNDAzMzEw
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