I was sure you could not have the heart to slay a child—an innocent child. The signs of tears had all gone, but some subtle change seemed to have stolen into her face. ’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. 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.
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