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. Perhaps she was. It was just upon the stroke of nine as he entered the Lodge, and Mr. ” “They’re back together again?” Lucy felt her heart sink into the pit of her stomach. It's a mighty quare 'un, though. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all. And it’s no use thinking he’d stop her. I understand. I’m going to tell you things plainly.
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