“What are you doing?” He cried. 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. Ruth was at that stage where the absorption of facts is great, but where the mental digestion is not quite equal to the task. “Mom, this is the girl I asked to Prom, Lucy.
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