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Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. It added to the picturesqueness of the Sha-mien night to observe these gaily coloured lanterns dancing hither and yon like June fireflies in a meadow. She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. She flew to the door, but returned the next minute, looking deeply disappointed, and bringing the intelligence that it was "only Mrs. Dutch; Pennsylvania Dutch. "I don't know. We WERE thieves. " "Oh, no,—no," replied Mrs. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. It looks so French to be affectionate.
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