"How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. There was something in Jonathan's manner, as he issued this command, that struck the man as singular, and he afterwards recalled it. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. 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. “Yes, John.
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