. 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. Flowers, theatre boxes, carriages, the “open sesame” to the whole world of pleasure. “You love some one else?” he repeated. Lucy's grin faded. The tail-ender of this little caravan, he had been rather out of it.
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