I’d take it— forgive me if I seem a little urgent—as a sort of proof of friendliness. Perhaps there were experiences she would never confide to any man. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. Her eyes fell, and then sought his again with timid interest. "That is easily explained. Shortly Ruth and Spurlock took the way home. 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.
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