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 precious thing, a beautiful cabochon—do you know what that is?” “What’s a cabochon?” “It’s a precious jewel that doesn’t have facets yet. I will be as silent as the grave. Where is he, Sir? Can I see him?" "No, that you can't," answered Mrs. CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster.
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