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He lays his hands lightly on her arm, yet his touch seems to burn through her gown into her very flesh. He stoops towards her. Mona takes no notice of his words, but still stands by the table, with her hands folded, her long white robes clinging to her, her eyes lowered, her whole demeanor like that of some mediæval saint. So thinks Rodney, who is gazing at her as though he would forever imprint upon his brain the remembrance of a vision as pure as it is perfect. CHAPTER XXIX..
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Conrad
"But you couldn't fondle a pig on your knees," says Mona, who is growing every minute more and more mixed. "I am so glad you are poor," says Mona. "If you were rich or even well off, I should never consent,—never!" "No?" arching her brows, and looking really sorry for her. "What a pity! They all come quite naturally to me. I don't remember ever being taught them. The music seemed to inspire me, and I really dance them very well. Don't I Geoff?" "There was Violet," says Lady Rodney..
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