. "It was silly. "Whatever your intelligence may be I will strive to bear it. The odds were astounding and yet he had it bad. 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. You can do anything you please. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest.
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