"Mother!" cried the son, "help!" "What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. I’m a man, and I know what I mean. 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. At the bottom of the trunk I found two of my mother's dresses. She would lure him, as he was an easily tempted child predator who could even more easily be turned into prey. “We don’t pretend.
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