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. His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky. She had gained respect all about town with news of her fine marriage, and her reputation as a beauty was expanding. “How well and jolly you must be feeling. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. Cursing under his breath, Gerald moved swiftly across and dragged her away. “For luck. She looked into his eyes, truly noticing their gray color for the first time.
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