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. There was so much to see, so much to do, that he became what he had once been normally, a lovable boy. “I didn’t understand, Vee. I had to ask Mr. He talked with his manner gentle and kindly.
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