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 don’t know. ‘I thought, you see, that we might as well enter by the same way our intruder had done. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture.
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