‘She’s little more than a schoolgirl, just out. I pledged my thumb that, dead or alive, I'd pay the wager if I lost; and I should like to be as good as my word. 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. Dear God, what a beautiful moment!" The fire went out of Spurlock's eyes and the shadow of hopeless weariness fell upon him. And Charcam, fearful of another charge in his master's present uncertain mood, disappeared.
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