"I have something further to tell you," pursued Winifred. He glanced at the ruins of his High Priestess. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. If nothing else had clinched that, the purse had. “You must remember,” she said, “that you yourself are responsible for your altered looks. How came you by the hurt, eh?" "How did I come by it?—that's a nate question.
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