It seems only yesterday that she was running down the Avenue, all hair and legs. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. The splendid voices sang on from phase to phase of love’s unfolding, the ship drove across the sea to the beating rhythm of the rowers. "Ah! but," said I, "there's a great deal in being hanged. Certainly not a gentlewoman.
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