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 | | Rose Pompon, her liberal facility in disposing of Philemon's bazaar, to the owner of which (as she said) she was luckily not married--the goodness of her heart, which revealed itself in her offers of service--her contrasts, her impertinence, her drollery--all this was so new and inexplicable to Mdlle. |
 | | Adrienne could not hesitate; she pronounced the thing impossible, from the moment she had seen her rival near, and witnessed her style both of manners and conversation, which, without detracting from the prettiness of her features, gave them a trivial and not very attractive character. |
 | | Adrienne started in alarm; but the countenance of Rose Pompon, just now so sad, brightened up joyously at this signal, and, clapping her hands she exclaimed, "It is Philemon!" "What--who?" said Adrienne, hastily. |
| www.gutenberg.org /dirs/3/3/4/3348/3348.txt (17945 words) |
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