The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. ‘I am not in the least in a rage. Anna followed her finger, and looked back into her sister’s face. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. 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. “No, those are my brother’s dog tags.
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