Yet before she turned once more to resume her flight she schooled herself with an effort to look where it had happened. In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph.
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