She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. ” She slipped on her cloak and stepped into the hansom with him. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice. Her head swam. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories.
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