There, hurry, while I find a bathrobe of Archibald's.

He's wet through--soaking wet.
He must have been out all day in the storm." Miss Polly vanished into the dimness of the hall, and after a few minutes Gabriella heard her fluttering voice demanding a telephone number as if she were still supplicating the Deity.
"Take off your wet clothes while I get you a drink and some hot blankets!" said Gabriella when she had found one of Archibald's bathrobes in the closet.

It occurred to her that George was really incapable of undressing himself, but she felt that she would rather die than touch him again.

The loathing which had overpowered her outside in the storm became stronger in the close air of the house.

"I can't touch him.