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Her usual dignified reserve had availed her nothing. ‘Never fear, my love. ‘She ought to be. He only stays here for you, hoping in vain. This is something above all rules. 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. And then she fell into a musing about Capes.
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