“What the hell is going on here, Officer?” He grumbled. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. Irregularly, in a quite inglorious and unromantic way, you know, I am a vicious man. Come along, my Newgate bird!" he continued, shaking him with great violence. I don’t want to bother you, of course. And look, again, at the women one finds letting lodgings. ’ Trodger frowned, and chewed his lip. And next morning she attired herself with especial care and neatness, found his address in the Directory at a post-office, and went to him.
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