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. Wood, disdainfully. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. ’ ‘How can you say so?’ protested Melusine. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. It was a habit of his to talk to himself.
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