Let’s go up to my room. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her. . Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. “One can’t tell.
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