"If you are human," rejoined Trenchard, with stern emphasis, "I insist upon knowing whence you derived your information?" "I might refuse to answer the question, Sir Rowland. He has hanged twelve of his associates already. 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. Wood's anxiety grew so insupportable, that he seized his hat with the intention of sallying forth in search of them, though he did not know whither to bend his steps, when his departure was arrested by a gentle knock at the door. You want industry—you want steadiness. “Yeah,” Shari nodded enthusiastically. He could not doubt it.
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