Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding. ’ ‘Do you take me for a fool, Hilary?’ demanded his betrothed. 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 am going,” he said, “to be impertinent. Wild in my presence! He's the right-hand of the community! We could do nothing without him!" "We!" repeated Wood, significantly.
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