"Is it gold?" "Pure gold," replied Kneebone. ” “I know. ” Courtlaw turned abruptly to Brendon. "I've known several cases where the ignominious doom I've mentioned has been foretold by such an accident as has just befallen you. ” The note of his own voice exasperated him. The feeling of last days grew stronger with her as their number diminished. 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. No, don’t let me call myself that. I doubt I hold any interest for him anymore. " "And what should a young man like this one have to forget?" Prudence demanded to know.
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