She took the tray with both hands, gulped, and gave way to tears. A sudden knock at the door startled her. 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. Left to Capting Roding, as he told me hisself, you’d be in prison this moment.
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