vest

The Jones man was looking at her hard. Now he reached into the hatch of his vest and fetched out a couple of cigars, everlasting big ones, with gilt bands on them.

He gripped some of the shreds and pulled off his vest and the shirt beneath it, his clothing disintegrating around him. What in the hell point was there in wearing a twenty-five-pound bulletproof vest if you could still get gunned to death?

In state attended by her maiden train, / Who bore the vests that holy rites require.

Not seldom, clad in radiant vest / Deceitfully goes forth the morn.