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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 did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. They were familiar but more massive.
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