"By my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i' my born days. He was disquieted. She never calls herself ‘Alcide. ’ Joan sniffed. 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. Then Courtlaw looked across at her with a white puzzled face.
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