"Do you think I would take a harlot to my bed, if it didn't suit my purposes to do so?" "He says right," replied Mrs. Ramage, and might describe the affair to him, she cried “Oh!” with renewed vexation, and repeated some steps of her dance in a new and more ecstatic measure. Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. She was gone. “Had the pleasure of dining with you at the ‘Ambassador’s’ one night, before the show, you know—last September I think it was. Perhaps I've been mad all these years; I don't know. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. With the immediate necessities in train, Melusine fell to brooding on her situation, which she found insupportable. So, instead, they talked of dancing and what it might mean in a human life. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure.
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