This key," he added, taking it from the boy, "was purloined from me by your father, Jack. Funk! I’ll see it out. He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse. 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. Horrible doubts assailed her. ‘How dull it must have been for you, poor little one. "Stop thief!" clamoured the rabble behind.
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