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. \"Do you want a snack?\" \"No thanks. “This party must be so boring for you. "Halloa, widow!" shouted a rough voice from below, "where the devil are you?" Mrs.
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