I must have been, standing on the threshold of the house, a slim, awkward figure in my stockinette dress, clutching in my sticky hands a pair of gauntlet gloves.
Daphne du Maurier. Rebecca (1938)
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The shirt which we had taken from the body aided us very much, for it was of singular form and character, and easily recognizable—a kind of smock, which the deceased wore over his other clothing. It was a blue stockinett, with large white stripes running across.
Edgar Allan Poe. The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 3: The Narrative of A. Gordon Pym (1838)