The noose was at its throat when I called for help. 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. The eggs were all right, but nobody in this part of the world had the least conception of what the coffee bean was for.
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