"Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. 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. John, I shall eat that whole tin of sardines. He had, he felt, to create certain ideas and vivify certain curiosities and feelings in her.
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