’ Her features broke apart in a laugh. "You call in vain," rejoined Thames. 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. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. She came very near that night to resolving that she would return to her home next morning. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain.
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