The dress was her mother's, and she was wearing it to save a little extra money. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. 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.
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