Of course, he had no idea who I was. 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. She assumed with a kind of mesmeric force all the propositions that Ann Veronica wanted her to define. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. It would hurt no one. "My schemes have succeeded tolerably well hitherto.
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