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 can’t even make myself care. He spoke the automatic thought that entered his mind. Michelle helped her mother clear the table and Lucy thanked her for the meal. ‘Now, madame, tell me all about your life in France.
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