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. He was a handsome man, and Lucy could see the strong resemblance of John to him. But after the first shock came a warm glow of relief. His pale and boyish waist was nearly as slim as her own. " "Yon ask impossibilities," replied Jonathan, sullenly. She is the image of what I was like, and she has a better voice. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood.
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