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About his neck was twisted a ragged woollen comforter, and he wore a smock-frock which was now soaked with water and clung to his thin figure. He devoured the food his wife had brought him, shivering from time to time as though he were still cold. Mrs. Goddard watched him in silence. She had done mechanically according to her first instinct, had led him in and had given him food.
Pécuchet kept muttering calculations, motionless in his long blouse, a kind of child's smock-frock with sleeves; and they looked upon themselves as very serious people engaged in very useful occupations. At length they dreamed of a cream which would surpass all others.
He came down, and a tall, powerful, well-fed man, evidently in his Sunday smock-frock and clean yellow leggings, got up and began: "I hav'n't no complaint to make about myself. I've a good master, and the parson's a right kind 'un, and that's more than all can say, and the squire's a real gentleman; and my master, he don't need to lower his wages.
And there was a face looking down on her; but it was an unknown face, belonging to an elderly man in a smock-frock. "Why, what do you do here, young woman?" the man said roughly. Hetty trembled still worse under this real fear and shame than she had done in her momentary dream under her aunt's glance. She felt that she was like a beggar already found sleeping in that place.
"Take off the bridle and give him a drink, ostler," said the traveller to the lad in a smock-frock, who had come out of the yard at the sound of the horse's hoofs. "Why, what's up in your pretty village, landlord?" he continued, getting down. "There seems to be quite a stir." "It's a Methodis' preaching, sir; it's been gev hout as a young woman's a-going to preach on the Green," answered Mr.
Richard Hare, his face turned to chalk, his eyes starting, and his own light hair bristling up with horror, struggled into his wet smock-frock after a fashion, the tails up about his ears and the sleeves hanging, forced on his hat and his false whiskers, looked round in a bewildered manner for some cupboard or mouse-hole into which he might creep, and, seeing none, rushed to the fireplace and placed his foot on the fender.
Or was it among the insignificant phrases spoken by that peasant yonder that he might hope to gather the one little illuminating word? One morning, he was lunching at an inn, within sight of Honfleur, the old city of the estuary. Opposite him was sitting one of those heavy, red-haired Norman horse-dealers who do the fairs of the district, whip in hand and clad in a long smock-frock.
"I wanted to see yer face, sir, that was all, if ye'll not take it amiss." Before me stood a tall old man with his hat in his hand, clothed as I have said, in a white smock-frock. He smoothed his short gray hair with his curved palm down over his forehead as he stood. His face was of a red brown, from much exposure to the weather.
This was addressed to the young man before mentioned, consisting chiefly of a human skeleton and a smock-frock, who was very awkward in his movements, apparently on account of having grown so very fast that before he had had time to get used to his height he was higher.
It was under the lawn, in front of the church. Gorju, in a blue smock-frock, with a neckcloth around his loins, went through the movements in an automatic fashion. When he gave the orders, his voice was gruff. "Draw in your bellies!" And immediately, Bouvard, keeping back his breath, drew in his stomach, and stretched out his buttocks. "Good God! you're not told to make an arch."
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