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. He had spoken impressively, and most likely Anna, had she reappeared, would have met with a fair reception. “Hotel Ritz,” he said mechanically to the coachman. When in the plenitude of his power, he commenced a terrible trade, till then unknown—namely, a traffic in human blood. "I believe he's gone," he said, returning to Jonathan. A vast relief filled Spurlock's heart as he decided to tell this man everything which related to Ruth.
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