Part of her felt like laughing insanely at how badly she had been duped. It was impulsive and natural. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries. You shall lie upon your back; your head shall be covered; and your feet shall be bare. The old-fashioned dress, with its series of ruffles and printed flowers, ballooned treacherously, revealing her well-turned leg in silk stockings, as it snapped against her body as a mould. I’ll be ready in a moment. I have—run away. She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks.
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