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. “Well,” she said, “good-night, father. His arm fell to his side. Ramage demurred. No matter how many books one read, each was different, as each human being was different. It was a moment before he recognised that the effect had been similar on all those present, including General Lord Charvill. Martin said “Hi” to her in the halls every day now, a sure sign of trouble.
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