She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness. 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. Over one of the pinnacles of the tower a speck of pallid light marked the position of the moon, then newly born and newly risen. “Life—things—I don’t think her prospects now—Hopeful outlook. She got home every night in time to cook supper and it was good money. Diedermeyer, sweetheart? He just went in. What marriage really meant (aside from the idea of escape), Ruth had not the least conception, no more than a child.
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