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My position, Miss Eyre, with my back to the fire, and my face to the room, favours observation. She pulled out of her box, about ten minutes ago, a little pink silk frock; rapture lit her face as she unfolded it; coquetry runs in her blood, blends with her brains, and seasons the marrow of her bones. 'Il faut que je l'essaie! cried she, 'et a l'instant meme! and she rushed out of the room.
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