Wait a little; rest. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. " "To-morrow will be too late," replied the widow, in a hollow voice, "I feel it will. . " "What!" she exclaimed, staring eagerly in his face. 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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