No prisoner except Edgeworth Bess was placed in the same cell with him. He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments. 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. He then descended; and having induced Bess to take off some part of her clothing, he tore the gown and petticoat into shreds and twisted them into a sort of rope which he fastened to the lower bars of the window.
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