But on that especial morning they were very prominent. Everything, in
fact, about the lady, or belonging to her, seemed exaggerated, as if the
heat of the weather had induced a tropical growth of her mental and
bodily peculiarities. Her bonnet was crooked beyond even the ordinary
capacity of Miss Blake's head-gear; the strings were rolled up till they
looked like ropes which had been knotted under her chin. A veil, as
large and black as a pirate's flag, floated down her back; her shawl was
at sixes and sevens; one side of her dress had got torn from the bodice,
and trailed on the ground leaving a broadly-marked line of dust on the
carpet. She looked as if she had no petticoats on; and her boots--those
were the days ere side-springs and buttons obtained--were one laced
unevenly, and the other tied on with a piece of ribbon.
As for her gloves, they were in the state we always beheld them; if she
ever bought a new pair (which I do not believe), she never treated us to
a sight of them till they had been long past decent service. They never
were buttoned, to begin with; they had a wrinkled and haggard
appearance, as if from extreme old age. If their colour had originally
been lavender, they were always black with dirt; if black, they were
white with wear.
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