“It was your own fault,” she exclaimed. 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. “It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully. Pah! What a pig is this générale. “Look, dear,” she said presently, “you can put the ten on the Jack. " "Wretch!" cried Jack, raising his hand in a menacing manner, "your triumph will be short-lived.
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