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Ah, I remember a different state of things! Credite posteri. To see these nymphs gracious powers, how beautiful they were! That leering, painted, shrivelled, thin-armed, thick-ankled old thing, cutting dreary capers, coming thumping down on her board out of time that an opera-dancer? Pooh!
When we made a divergence from the regular species of drunkard, the thin-armed, puff-faced, leaden-lipped gin-drinker, and encountered a rarer specimen of a more decent appearance, fifty to one but that specimen was dressed in soiled mourning.
Each new time I hear her voice, with its faint clang of tears, my heart grows big and hot, and my bones melt. I detest her, but it is no good. My heart begins to swell like a bud under the plangent rain. The last time I saw her was here, on the Garda, at Salo. She was the chalked, thin-armed daughter of Rigoletto. I detested her, her voice had a chalky squeak in it.
That leering, painted, shrivelled, thin-armed, thick-ankled old thing, cutting dreary capers, coming thumping down on her board out of time THAT an opera-dancer? Pooh!
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