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. Thrilling, she began to dance, swirled, glided, and dipped. “Unless you have an appointment, which you haven’t,” he said, “you’ll only waste your time here. I swore to hang you two years ago, but I deferred my purpose. I want you to turn me.
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