"Well, gentlemen," rejoined Wood, mildly; "since 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. They vanished through the doorway. . I consented. " "I should think not," observed Jonathan, who had some practice in the knight's moods, and knew how to humour him.
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