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. The expression, however, which would chiefly have interested a beholder, was that of settled and profound melancholy. He sat before a desk littered all over with papers and official looking documents.
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