“I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. “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. Anna followed her finger, and looked back into her sister’s face.
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