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 just wanted a breath of air. I’ve got too much work. He hated the taste of it. You didn’t even put the twelve words. ’ Kimble gaped at her and Melusine struggled to pull herself out of the shock. After a while, he raised his eyes; and, if their glance could have been witnessed at the moment, it could not have been easily forgotten.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ5LjIzLjQgLSAyOC0wNi0yMDI0IDE0OjQwOjQ2IC0gOTgwMjQ1MzI5
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