" "I shall require them as well," rejoined Sheppard; "and your boots. I don’t think for a moment that he would recognize you. 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. “Once or twice. It’s a world of dirt and skin diseases and parasites. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone.
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