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. Wood. She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets. There’s a great gulf opened, and nobody’s got any plans what to do with us. ‘Wait! No time for that. “John,” she declared, “I must eat or die. ’ ‘But what do you want it for, miss?’ ‘But to protect myself.
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