‘I just don’t understand you, Gerald. 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. “Lots of ‘em!” Capes chuckled. Now you can understand why I have been obliged to——” “Yes, yes, I understand that,” Courtlaw interrupted.
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