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"Bin ich eine hubsche?" she asked a little anxiously, laying a detaining hand upon me, and evidently not understanding a word of what I was striving to say. I find it extraordinarily difficult to recall the phases by which I passed from my first admiration of Margaret's earnestness and unconscious daintiness to an intimate acquaintance.
"Ach Gott!" she sighed by way of comment, and mused deeply for a moment before she turned her face to me, as to something forgotten and remembered, and assumed the half-hearted meretricious smile. "Bin ich eine hubsche?" she asked like one who repeats a lesson. I was moved to crave her pardon and come away.
Well, Christian, now sing us a Low-German song." "I know but one song," said Christian, hesitatingly. "It is the spinning-song which my Frederica sang to me in the spinning-room." "Well, sing your spinning-song," said Blucher, looking at his pipe, which was going out. Christian cleared his throat, and sang: Spinn doch, spinn doch, min lutt lewes Dochting, Ick schenk Di ock'n poor hubsche Schoh!
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