The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence. The Master of the Mint was accompanied by another gentleman almost as portly as himself, and quite as deliberate in his movements. Feigning an air of casualness, Lucy asked the obvious. They put her down, and she leaped at them; she smote a helmet to the ground. I spoke a thought aloud. 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 was the bitterest moment of her life. “I don’t have time for this.
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