"I can dress myself," Alphonse repeated. The grey suit looked at him with judgment winking from its shiny buttons. He rolled onto his side to play with the pocket square laid atop the lapel. "I don't want to marry the girl," he told it despondently. "I don't want to marry any girl! What do you think, old chap? Could we survive on our own, sans estate? I could sell you for a few pounds, I should think." The suit, which was a fine wool and silk blend befitting the autumnal chill, and had never seen him do a day's work in his life, seemed doubtful.
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