She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill. You dear, dear girl. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable.
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