“I don’t know how to prove myself to you, John. His features were regular, and finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,—a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the Second's days—a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in our own days. “If one half of the stories about Meysey Hill are true,” he answered, “I would not stretch out my little finger to save his life. I imagine that even you must realize that this is of some importance. ” “Blood of my heart!” whispered Capes, holding her close to him. But, rather than be the cause of any further misunderstanding between you and my benefactor, I will leave London and its neighbourhood for ever. His mind was busy with a résumé of yesterday's unusual events.
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