I'll tell you what. He was no match for Brendon. 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. But your cracked skull is by no means a pleasing spectacle. I wouldn’t recommend doing anything. ‘Besides, I don’t want the men blundering in here and frightening off our spy.
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