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. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. She was furiously angry. She was caught by an uncle, whose opinion she valued, making faces at Roddy because he had exulted at this. Besides, my husband has shares in Sir John’s company.
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