His attitude was as different from Gianfrancesco’s as night was from day. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. 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 gave her silence in return. Ah! she looks this way, and puts her finger to her lips. Anna was unimpressed. ’ The crack in the iron front widened a little, and the general was obliged to clamp his jaws tight against the rise of a pain too well remembered.
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