Angelina's distress over these mischances was pathetic. We looked upon you, my dear Sir John, with reverence, almost with awe. She felt pride sashay into her thoughts. “I suppose you could at least tune it for us if you know how to play. "I give you all of my genius, and you say—'Get out!' I am some kind of a dog. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful.
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