"I can do without it," muttered Jack. 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. When, by slow and toilsome efforts, he had arrived midway, something obstructed his further progress. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. “I think—we all think that she is wonderful. ‘Now then, girl. “We’ve never known anyone who can play like you, Lucy. Taking the direction pointed out, he rode off. ” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass.
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