She leaned a little towards him. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. “I suppose some one makes a bit on the food,” she said. “You’re still,” he said, “in the educational years. ' That has always haunted me. What are you after?’ ‘But my pistol and dagger, imbecile,’ she exclaimed impatiently, moving sharply back.
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