Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak. She thought of them as fools, but had been sorry to see them go. “I am going,” she said grimly, with three hairpins in her mouth. After you went he got up and took refuge in the preparation-room.
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