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Yet you make our Bohemianism seem like a vulgar thing. That, I think, is manifest. “I don’t know why. “Oh, you can act!” she cried. The country was partitioned in a similar manner. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. Another door was next opened, and, preceded by the ordinary, with the sacred volume in his hand, the prisoner entered the room. ‘Oh, peste,’ she cried out in distressed tones. Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll. She veiled her emotion by taking off his overcoat. CHAPTER II. . Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question.
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