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. " "He has done too much already," answered the widow. ‘You had better kill me, mademoiselle, because otherwise I shall end by strangling you. I must have this beast brought to London with me, that is seen. " "Take hence this boy, then," rejoined Trenchard; "his looks unman me.
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