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I saw you at the concert the other night, dressed, actually, like anybody else. Who is your tailleuse?" "Tittle-tattle: how prettily it begins! My tailleuse! a fiddlestick! Come, sheer off, Ginevra. I really don't want your company." "But when I want yours so much, ange farouche, what does a little reluctance on your part signify?
My tailleuse had kindly made it as well as she could: because, as she judiciously observed, it was "si triste si pen voyant," care in the fashion was the more imperative: it was well she took this view of the matter, for I, had no flower, no jewel to relieve it: and, what was more, I had no natural rose of complexion.
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