"The poor young man!" sighed Angelina. 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 controlled herself, and answered meekly, “No. "Hush!" she said. Some day I'm going to paint her; but that will be when I've retired. ‘Yes, miss. ‘Oh, I don’t wish to marry you.
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