The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. The aunt laughed. Wood heard the cry. “I refuse. The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband. ” The bedrooms of John’s house were the size of an entire floor at the Becks.
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