We’ll have some buttered toast. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. 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. The lady murmured briefly to her husband, and then tucked her hand into Alderley’s arm. " "But, Mac. ” “Why in Heaven’s name should I forget?” he cried.
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