[Micah Clarke by Arthur Conan Doyle]@TWC D-Link book
Micah Clarke

CHAPTER XVIII
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I raised my hands, and lo! they came upon my bare pate.

The wig had vanished.

We were rolling down Fleet Street at the moment, and there was no one in the calash save neighbour Foster, who sat as astounded as I.We looked high and low, on the seats and beneath them, but not a sign of the periwig was there.

It was gone utterly and without a trace.' 'Whither then ?' we asked with one voice.
'That was the question which we set ourselves to solve.

For a moment I do assure ye that we bethought us that it might be a judgment upon us for our attention to such carnal follies.


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