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. Don't be afraid, man,—off with it. “I’ve tried to make words tell it. Those I don’t mind, though, the games. The gentleman didn't communicate his business to me. ‘Not at all ladylike. All the rest is humbug and delicacy.
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