There it was—to be borrowed. \" Mark was tall and skinny, a mop of brown hair over a pillar of freckles. 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. The well of tears in her eyes was dry. It isn’t. She thought of them as fools, but had been sorry to see them go.
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