She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. 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. She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair. "Man, man! You're coming to life. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. It is no good waiving the thing; it is true.
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