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. It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. In the first place, it will be damnably dull. Rather would I have gone with Leonardo—and he wished me to do so. Her mind had been and was full of the thought of Capes, a huge generalized Capes-lover. Teenagers buzzed about her newly discovered talent for the violin in the same sentences as they gossiped about her torrid police scandal and a lost mother who remained in the deep shadows of murder mystery.
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