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Updated: June 25, 2025
A tight-drawn belt last relic of his official spruceness made a deep furrow in his circumference. The Captain's shoes were buttonless. In a smothered bass he cursed his star of ill-luck. Murray, at his side, was shrunk into his dingy and ragged suit of blue serge. His hat was pulled low; he sat quiet and a little indistinct, like some ghost that had been dispossessed.
When they arrived, the husband declared to them that his wife was an idiot, that she displeased him in every possible way, and made his life almost unbearable; that she would wake him out of his first sleep, never came to the door when he knocked, but would leave him out in the rain and the cold, and that the house was always untidy. His garments were buttonless, his laces wanted tags.
The large pale woman who answered the bell wore a grey flannel dressing-gown that was almost buttonless, and her light hair was screwed into an absurdly small knot on the nape of her neck. "You want to be taken en pension? Come in."
What is this, he said, in the name of God? Crumbs? Someone seems to have been making a picnic party here lately, Mr Power said. All raised their thighs and eyed with disfavour the mildewed buttonless leather of the seats. Mr Dedalus, twisting his nose, frowned downward and said: Unless I'm greatly mistaken. What do you think, Martin? It struck me too, Martin Cunningham said.
The House was mildly interested; its attitude was summed up in Turner's remark: "The King's uniform will have to go buttonless as far as I am concerned. Damned if I'll waste twopence to buy a rotten bone button." On the next parade, however, Clarke inspected the company. Half the House had to call him the next morning, dressed properly, at seven o'clock. That would mean getting up at six-thirty.
"Nothin'." "All right. Get a movin' and don't try to run. I got my rope handy." High-Chin Bob The man's rusty black coat was torn and wrinkled. His cheap cotton shirt was faded and buttonless. His boots were split at the sole, showing part of a bare foot. He was grimy, unshaven, and puffed unhealthily beneath the eyes. Lorry knew that he was but an indifferent rider without seeing him on a horse.
Although I recall the boy's external appearance upon that occasion with some vagueness, I vividly remember that his trousers were much too large and long, and that his heavy, flapping coat was buttonless, and very badly worn and damaged at the sleeves and elbows.
Many of the men were through at the knees, and tattered at the elbows. Some were buttonless and patched. I had to put a patch in my shorts. Our civilian boots were wearing out some were right through. Heels came off when they "right turned," others had their soles flapping as they marched.
And the curious, the pitifully, laughably incomprehensible part of it is that in her own house Fanny absolutely never can seem to take the least interest. Her own dishes are always standing about unwashed. Her kitchen is spoken of in horrified whispers; her children, buttonless, garterless, mealless, stray about in all sorts of improper places and weather.
And this same military history had vaguely worried him all the time, and now that he could think clearly, worried him with a very definite worry. In leaving his firing-party he had been guilty of a crime. Every misdemeanour in the Army is termed a crime from murder to appearing buttonless on parade. Was it desertion? If so, he might be shot. He had not thought of that when he started on his quest.
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