She turned off the light and approached the window. “Anna! What tragedy has happened, little sister? No lights, no supper, no coffee —and, above all, no Mr. 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. ’” “What did he say?” “What does any one say to an invitation to dinner point-blank? One tries to collect one’s wits.
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