Kimble had bedded the animal down at the local inn. 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. “How are you?” He asked, realizing she was unnerved by the very sound of his voice. The boy was bright and inquisitive as he was subtle. We have a great deal to discuss, you and I.
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