Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. 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. If I am to die in the attempt, then so be it. "Well, it's a good story. "If I had my old tools with me, we'd soon master this obstacle," he muttered.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ1LjcxLjUwIC0gMDItMDYtMjAyNCAwNTo1MzozMyAtIDgxMDAzNTIxOA==
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