The doctor turned quickly and made for the door, which he opened and shut gently because he was assured that Ruth was listening across the hall for any sign of violence. 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 her past now, not Annabel’s. “I have loved you,” he was saying, “ever since you sat on that gate and talked. "I'll gibbet the rascal. When I carried you up here like a bride, that is the way I wanted us to be, Mary Lucia.
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