” “You asked your father for a reason!” Miss Miniver repeated. ” She wanted to feast upon him badly, his passion, his youthfulness. This obstacle, which appeared to preclude the possibility of egress in that quarter, was speedily got rid of. 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. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse. "Hear me, Sir Rowland!" he cried. He was her only brother, and she his favourite sister. “Really,” she said. It arises, I think, from an over developed sense of humour.
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