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. It will serve you out if I give her dagger back to mademoiselle, so that she can plunge it right into your chest. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. If she could have held it in, perhaps the Virgin Mary would have sent her a miracle as reward for her strength. Her courage and her presence of mind had alike deserted her.
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