"Confound the insolent villain!" thought the old
gentleman. "He understood my wants to a nicety: he was the best
servant in England." He thought about his servant as a man thinks of a
horse that has carried him long and well, and that has come down with
him, and is safe no longer. How the deuce to replace him? Where can he
get such another animal?
In these melancholy cogitations the major, who had donned his own
dressing gown and replaced his head of hair (a little gray had been
introduced into the _coiffure_ of late by Mr. Truefitt, which had
given the major's head the most artless and respectable appearance);
in these cogitations, we say, the major, who had taken off his wig and
put on his night-handkerchief, sate absorbed by the fire-side, when a
feeble knock came at his door, which was presently opened by the
landlady of the lodgings.
"God bless my soul, Mrs. Brixham!" cried out the major, startled that
a lady should behold him in the _simple appareil_ of his night-toilet.
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