In fact, the whole face had undergone a transformation. "I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. “It really seems as if we shall have to put down marigolds altogether next year,” Aunt Molly repeated three times, “and do away with marguerites. “No,” she answered, reluctantly. But the figure was evidently too intent on peering within the ballroom to pay any attention to what might be occurring outside. " And she left the room with Blueskin, who very politely offered her his arm. By and by he ventured to peer into this window. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child.
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