Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. “When you loosen the tangle in one place you tie a knot in another. There’s that old gentleman at the end of the table—Bullding his name is. “Thank you—for coming,” he said. As she danced there was in her ears the faded echo of wooden tom-toms. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil.
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