Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. When the bell rang, she lagged behind as was her habit. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable.
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