She could not stir hand or foot. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. "Can't you guess?" returned Winifred, throwing her arms about her neck. You are too credulous. 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.
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