I expect Mr. 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. Sheppard was no sooner alone than she fell upon her knees by the side of the couch, and poured forth her heart in prayer. They were a young man and an old one, and both appeared deeply affected. Likely as not outside the law, too. And there was that dress of hers! She must be warned that she had been imposed upon. Wow. She was weeping now. No matter what they do, always someone to bolster them up, to lend them money, and to coddle them.
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