Sheila McCloskey was the real neighborhood watch. Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching animosity. His features were regular, and finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,—a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the Second's days—a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in our own days. " "Except me, dear," insinuated Edgeworth Bess. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. Like carpenter, like chips.
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