She is a year or so older than I am, and she is, well, of a very serene and proud and dignified temperament. Everything had so far come to pass as the withered old Kanaka woman had foretold. Shamefaced curiosities began to come back into her mind, thinly disguised as literature and art. 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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