Youth! You denied me even that," said Ruth, her glance now flashing to her father. 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. ‘It’s a pretty name. That is what marriage is to most young women: the ultimate escape from the family, from the unwritten laws that govern children.
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