“Is that okay with you? To go down to the station with him?” “I’ll go with him, Larry. ” “We might even have—given it up for them!” “I wonder if we could. 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. No matter. Michelle helped her mother clear the table and Lucy thanked her for the meal. Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs.
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