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Various

"The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 18, No. 110, December, 1866 A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics"

Rocket, turned me round to the window to see whether I
was looking my best, or, as she equivocally phrased it, "the best of
which I was capable," told me, that I had got a little _rouge_ the last
time I was out, and must ask Miss Dudley whether it was not becoming,
and hooked her forefingers into my naturally _gekraeuseltes_ hair, to
pull it into what she always maintained to be the proper _pose_ above my
eyebrows.
Then down I ran, and off I went, through the town and along the road,
between rocks and evergreens with here and there a gate among them that
marked the entrance to the earthly paradise of some lucky gentleman.
"Sha'n't we be too early?" asked I, fidgeting, for my prosperity
appeared to me, just now, too perfect to be permanent.
"No," said the Doctor. "They are early people at Barberry Beach,--not
Sybarites in anything, so far as I can judge. It is near nine. Miss
Dudley tells me I shall almost always find her visible by that time. If,
not hearing from you, she has made other engagements, you know she is
more likely to be at leisure now than later."
"She does not look well yet. What was the matter with her?"
"_Angina pectoris_. That is Greek to you, Katy. Pain in the heart,
then."
"What made her have it?"
"That is a deep question in the most interesting of sciences,--that of
the metamorphoses of diseases.


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