The parlour was cluttered but cosy. God send the fellow did turn out to be a spy! Beckoning Roding on, Gerald crept down the corridor towards the source of the swishing he had heard. 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. ” “Never better in my life,” Anna declared briskly.
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