'—'What is it, Mint?' asked all three. She was good to me for the two years I stayed with her, she had a nice apartment in Galveston. 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 thick-set, coarse-looking young man, Anna!” she exclaimed in a hoarse excited whisper. Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. That was the true marvel of it.
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