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. When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. “You’re—I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica. Why else?’ Gerald stared at her blankly. “Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. “May I be allowed to say,” he declared, “that I came here with the same intention. He caught the smirk. I went to the theatre that night.
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