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. Their momentary absence seemed to have worked wonders; for now the most perfect understanding appeared to subsist between them. You have somewhere to go to in London, I hope. The stags and oxen and things all have to fight for us, everywhere. For you know that I have made up my mind to dig a little way into life single-handed. A child—as innocent as a child! Nothing about life; bemused by the fairy stories you writers call novels! I don't know what you have done; I don't care. He had this thing for his twin daughters. The Ragged Edge. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise.
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