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Then their faces became grave and serious and the dance began. The oldest was hardly more than fifteen and the youngest about ten. They were like sober-faced little dolls in gorgeous brocaded robes as they paraded, stamped their white-stockinged feet and postured with elaborate fans. Mme. Fontaine, who had eaten no dinner and talked very little, watched the dancers with intense interest.
For all the world he postured like the mate aft, as though he copied the officer for a life or death bet: head sunk, arms folded the forecastle break brought that raised deck well aft, and the look-out had the shadow of the starboard fore-rigging upon him.
The old man was shaking his head sadly by the fireplace. Some logs burned on the andirons with a red flame. The furniture consisted of a mahogany sideboard, table, and chairs, ponderous in pattern; and a series of family portraits, in a sprawling style of art, smirked and postured on the wall.
She liked frequently to glance leisurely through the pages, tasting here and there; and now, as she did whenever she read the familiar text, she lingered over certain passages of the deferential genealogist whom, hardly conscious of the act of imagination, she could almost see in tight satin breeches, postured on his knees, holding out these tributes to her on a golden salver:
He whipped the visionary steeds with enthusiastic glee, and appeared to be off skyward like a mad poet, when the signora again put a question, and at once he struck his hand flat across his mouth, and sat postured to answer what she pleased with a glare of polite vexation. She spoke; he echoed her, and the duchess took up the same phrase.
Altogether the scene was somewhat peculiar, at least to Captain Delano, nor, as he saw the two thus postured, could he resist the vagary, that in the black he saw a headsman, and in the white a man at the block. But this was one of those antic conceits, appearing and vanishing in a breath, from which, perhaps, the best regulated mind is not always free.
Her fixed idea stood on the stage and sang with Polly Peachum, mimed with Filch, danced with Jenny Diver, postured with Lucy Lockit, kissed, trolled, and cuddled with Macheath. Her lips might smile, her hands applaud, but the comic old masterpiece made no more impression on her than if it had been pathetic, like a modern "Revue."
It was a very stately and slow wooing, like the movement of a minuet; each postured to each, not from any insincerity, except perhaps a little now and then on Ralph's side, but because for both it was a natural mode of self-expression. It was an age of dignity abruptly broken here and there by violence.
Emilia checked her tears. His hand being raised to beat time, she could not withstand the signal. "Sempre;" there came two struggling notes, to which another clung, shuddering like two creatures on the deeps. She stopped; herself oddly calling out "Stop." "Stop who, donc?" Mr. Pericles postured an indignant interrogation. "I mean, I must stop," Emilia faltered. "It's the fog.
She postured joyously as she undressed, and danced a feminine war-dance in much the same costume that she wore when Jim Dyckman fished her out of the pool at Newport. She sang: "I dreamt that I fell in a mar-arble pool With nobles and swells on all si-i-ides." She had slapped her rescuer's hands away then and groaned to learn that she had driven off a famous plutocrat.
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