Homosexuals weren’t looked too kindly upon in their exclusive suburban neighborhood, not even dashing handsome ones. 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 in her eyes—the big thing that comes but once. No doubt he has been drinking for days without eating substantially, and his heart gave out. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. My destiny, I am afraid, is going to lead me into the ruts. This woman, contrary to his custom, he answered. It was a beautiful place that she had found, a round cave by a small stream.
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