Then I threw a bucket of dirty water on his face and said, ‘Listen, asshole, let’s get one thing straight. 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. ” “YOU know,” said Ann Veronica. Yet an indiscriminating, wrong-headed world gave such fellows all sorts of distinctions. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. She opened it and imbibed. That’s the fact about them.
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