A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. Every word you utter puzzles me. There is light enough from the sun,’ she said, relieved. ‘Tell me, my boy. You may command my services at any time.
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