Women! He is always chanting the praise of some discovery; sometimes it will be a native, often a white woman out of the stews. 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 came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity. But I'll never part with your irons.
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