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. “I cannot say who he is,” said Ann Veronica, “but he is a married man. "I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. He allowed his irons and clothes to be taken off without resistance. He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man.
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