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. "It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. Just by walking in you can tell if it is a good house or a bad house.
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