” “But will you?” “YES. Good night. ‘Oh, peste,’ she cried out in distressed tones. 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. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand.
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