All this was the work of a minute. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire. His aunt, here at McClintock's? It was unbelievable. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding. Immeasurable disgust possessed her. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. “Ohmigod! You totally sounded like my grandmother just now!” Michelle exclaimed.
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