He turned back at once. The intense darkness added to the terror of the storm. You see—I didn’t understand. That knot also would be cut. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. 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. E. A queer nut.
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