The crowd began to separate as it fell into the theater. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. 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. Mr. "Why did I want it under my pillow?" he asked.
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