His literary instincts were reviving. \"What did you think of Poltergeist, John?\" She tried to engage him in conversation as Mark's music blared from the van's stereo system. ‘Lawks-a-mussy! It’s Miss Mary. A creature of convenience, she could have cared less if her children were carried away by drunkards on the street. 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. "You want me, then?" she said.
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