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. What was the fellow about? Was he being imposed upon? He watched as the man Valade turned back, spreading his hands in the French way. ” He threw open the door of the sitting-room and switched on the electric light.
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