” “You could never be that,” he answered, “but you are at least more serious than usual. Well, I don't think they'll any of 'em nab him, that's one comfort. A sinister thought edged in. Lucy sighed. She read for half an hour, then closed the book because Spurlock appeared to have fallen asleep. 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.
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