“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. Jiggle-joggle, jiggle-joggle…! For each pause she was grateful. Instead, she laughed, laughed with lips and eyes, laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks.
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