” Anna shivered a little. "I guess who you mean," rejoined Shotbolt. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. " "Don't worry about that. 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. He was damned if he knew what to do.
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