’ ‘But I can’t leave you, miss. Wood, would preclude the possibility of his remaining with his new friends as long as his inclinations prompted. 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 could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge.
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