Don't you go up on the roof in that!" I exclaimed, sitting up abruptly. "That's your good woolen shirt!" He halted by the door, glared briefly at me, then, with the rebuking expression of an early Christian martyr, laid down his tools, stripped off the shirt, dropped it on the floor, picked up the tools, and strode majestically out to deal with the leak, buttocks clenched with determined zeal. I
( Diana Gabaldon )
[ Drums of Autumn ]
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