Let me go, Sir. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. 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. \"Are you aware that every girl in Princeton Hills would kill for a chance at him? I think it's simple.
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