Hopefully. I must practise what I preach. Her eyebrows were lifted in expostulation. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. Fearful that she had given herself away, she sank back down onto her stool. 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.
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