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. Wood, glancing angrily at her husband. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. Henceforth, I utterly throw off the yoke you have laid upon me.
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