Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression. 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. " He held out his dry hard hand into which she placed hers. “Yeah, I’ve heard that story. " "Devil take the key!" ejaculated Wood. He began shoveling dirt over the bodies.
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