They looked out over the city, grim and silent now, for it was long past midnight. His clothes had evidently seen some service, and were plentifully begrimed with the dust of the workshop. 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. "Now, step this way, Mr. 1.
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