’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. My very sentences stumble and give way. 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. "Because it's not like you," was her answer. Neither of these wards had beds, and the unfortunate inmates were obliged to take their rest on the oaken floor.
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