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Updated: June 21, 2025
"Yink grink binks." "My rotten books...." She would come back, and read all her books more carefully. She had packed some. She could not remember which and why. "Binks," she said, and it was quite easy for them to crowd together at the little dressing-table. Harriett was standing in her little faded red moirette petticoat and a blue flannelette dressing-jacket brushing her wiry hair.
Cullingworth in her dressing-jacket, with her hair down her back. "Would you mind coming down and seeing James, Dr. Munro?" said she. "He has been very strange all night, and I am afraid that he is ill." Down I went, and found Cullingworth looking rather red in the face, and a trifle wild about the eyes.
Had she forgotten Mark or did she remember him too well? Or was she afraid to remember? Supposing there was a black hole in her mind where Mark's death was, and another black hole where Mary had been? Had she always held you together in her mind so that you went down together? Did she hold you together now, in some time and place safer than memory? She was still playing with the dressing-jacket.
The 'prentice opened it, and was aghast; the mother's prayer seemed to be answered, for there, bleeding, bowed double, livid, ragged, with a cloth about her head, and clad in a dirty dressing-jacket and a filthy draggled petticoat, was Elizabeth Canning.
And this time she was looking straight at him, coming towards him.... On her head was a wreath of red roses.... He was all in agitation, he sat up.... Before him stood his aunt in a nightcap adorned with a broad red ribbon, and in a white dressing-jacket. 'Platosha! he said with an effort. 'Is that you? 'Yes, it's I, answered Platonida Ivanovna ... 'I, Yasha darling, yes.
She put her candle on the mantelpiece, and then, folding her arms over her expansive bosom, which a fine white dressing-jacket hardly covered, she said: "So, Monsieur Kervelen, you think my house is a house of ill-fame?" I was not at all proud. I murmured: "Oh, dear, no! But, Mme. Kergaran, you must not be angry; you know what young men are."
I had still to say good-bye to Ariadne. I knocked at the door. "Entrez!" In her room was the usual morning disorder: tea-things on the table, an unfinished roll, an eggshell; a strong overpowering reek of scent. The bed had not been made, and it was evident that two had slept in it. Ariadne herself had only just got out of bed and was now with her hair down in a flannel dressing-jacket.
And at dinner, as he sat facing Platosha, he suddenly recalled her midnight appearance, recalled that abbreviated dressing-jacket, the cap with the high ribbon and why a ribbon on a nightcap? all the ludicrous apparition which, like the scene-shifter's whistle in a transformation scene, had dissolved all his visions into dust!
Then we went on to Moggs and found him in a camel-hair dressing-jacket in a luxurious bed, drinking China tea, and got the shape of everything but the figures fixed by lunch time.
And there hung an arras portière over a doorway to the right of the fireplace. That was her bedroom! Dare he peep in? That was her little bed. Would the housemaid catch him if he slipped in and left a kiss on her pillow? By the mirror was a grotesque little china monster with his mouth full of hat-pins. He stole one for a memory. Over a chair lay a little dressing-jacket.
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