"Yes, of course," she says, dejectedly. A cloud seems to have fallen upon her happy hour. "When did you hear that—that last singer?" she asks, in a subdued voice.,
Still she hesitates, though betraying no vulgar awkwardness or silly mauvaise honte. Indeed, the only sign of emotion she does show is a soft slow blush, that, mounting quickly, tips even her little ears with pink.,
"It is quite simple: there is no deception," says Mr. Darling, addressing the room, with gracious encouragement in his tone, shrugging his shoulders and going through all the airs and graces that belong to the orthodox French showman..
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