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. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. She lay very still and closed her eyes, hear tears gliding off of her ears, causing them to itch. Suspicion was in his face. "Here, Poll, help me!" Thus exhorted, Mrs. Her father became much less distant towards his only daughter in the days that followed.
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