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. Flowers, theatre boxes, carriages, the “open sesame” to the whole world of pleasure. “Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek. You’re neither of you any longer under arrest.
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