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. A pig, yes, a little. Then Mike came along. She saw me, and, Lady Ferringhall, I shall never forget her look as long as I live. That was the only sound he heard.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMjAuMjM0LjEyMCAtIDAyLTA2LTIwMjQgMDA6MDM6MDkgLSAxODgxMzM0MTE2
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