Explore "Moll Davis" by Bernard Capes on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
To the Duke of York's chambers in Whitehall came a mincing exquisite, with a guitar slung from his neck by a broad silver ribbon. He was dressed in silvered white from chin to toe, and he strutted exactly like a white leghorn cock surveying his seraglio. His long, straw-coloured hair was elaborately curled over his temples; the lashes to his eyes were like pale spun glass; a tiny cherished moustachio, pointed upwards at the tips, stood either side his round nose like a couple of thorns to a gooseberry. He hummed as he walked, flourishing a beringed and scented hand to such palace minions as met and saluted him by the way, and reaching the Duke's quarters, acknowledged, with a charming condescension, the respectful greetings of M. Prosper, gentleman of the Chamber to his Highness, who accosted him at the door of the anteroom.
"Ha, my good Prothper! I thee you well, _j'ethpère bien_? "