What was the matter with the dress? She could not see. “What is the exact force of a motif?” she asked at random. In the mean time, let me advise you as a friend not to irritate him by a refusal, which would be as useless as vexatious. She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. 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. The Jacobite IV.
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