Probably something he had eaten. ‘But don’t let me stop you from going to see Charvill. You can’t go. “Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill. I don't threaten idly, as you know. 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. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun.
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