I love you all the more for the streak of sheer devil in you. ‘Not kill me, I mean. 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. “Let us put the lamp out,” she said; “the flames are ever so much better for talking,” and Ann Veronica agreed. Too much blood has been shed already.
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