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She hated living like that. "Mercy on us! what have I said!" cried the attendant, greatly alarmed by the agitation of her mistress; "do sit down, your ladyship, while I run for the ratifia and rosa solis. Let me make your future for you. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. Melusine tapped on it. Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll. You promise me you’ll never grow old, you hear?” “I promise.
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