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. All at once Melusine remembered Pottiswick, and the errand he had run. But he's witty and amusing, and when reasonably drunk he can play the piano like a Paderewski. He never asked questions; he never addressed his companions; and frequently he took off his cap and wiped his forehead. For a stunned moment, Emile did not speak.
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