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. This done, he let himself carefully down by it, and having only a few feet to drop, alighted in safety. “There is someone in my rooms,” Anna said. This smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look. He's going to ask you to Prom. On the contrary, I am altogether satisfied.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjE5MS4yMjUuMTg4IC0gMjYtMDYtMjAyNCAyMjozMjowMyAtIDcwNjM5Njc5NQ==
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