I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. The clock struck half-past ten. 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. I'll see.
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This video was uploaded to probiv.club on 28-04-2024 00:52:32
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