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Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet. But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. "Then take her back," said the manager.
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