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George Vickers, aged six, was driven to the verge of madness by being washed. Three times in succession one morning; a gag of well-soaped flannel being applied with mechanical regularity each time that he strove to point out the unwashed condition of Martha and Charles.
He saw again the passion she had had for him. It blazed upon her for a moment. He was shy, rather scared, and humble. Yet again he felt his old glow. And then immediately he felt the ruin he had made during these years. He wanted to bustle about, to run away from it. "Gi'e my back a bit of a wesh," he asked her. His wife brought a well-soaped flannel and clapped it on his shoulders.
You ought to fill the basin three parts full with rain water, then, having well-soaped and cleansed your hands, re-soap them, dip your head and face into the water, then with the soaped hands well rub and wash your head, face, neck, chest, and armpits; having done which, take the wetted sponge, and go over all the parts previously travelled over by the soaped hands; then fold the flannel, as you would a neck-kerchief, and dip it in the water, then throw it, as you would a skipping-rope, over your shoulders and move it a few times from right to left and from left to right, and up and down, and then across the back and loins; having done which, dip the sponge in the water, and holding your head over the water, let the water stream from the sponge a time or two over your head, neck, and face.
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