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‘I am not a person, Marthe. Had he found the secret door? Running to the centre, she tried to judge where the knocking came from. It is what I have wanted, what I have meant all along. 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 frightened her to behold her heart and mind thus laid bare; but the chapter following would reassure her.
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