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The Daughter of Mrs. Fleming

           Oneofherchiefdelightswastowalkaloneinherroomsometimesatnight,thelampout,themoonperhapsfaintlyilluminatingherchamberandtoposeandsurveyherbody,anddanceinsomenaive,graceful,airyGreekwayadancethatwassingularlyfreefromsexconsciousnessandyetwasit?Shewasconsciousofherbodyofeveryinchofitundertheivory-whiteclotheswhichshefrequentlywore.Onceshewroteinasecretdiarywhichshemaintainedanotherartimpulseoranaffectation,asyouwill:"Myskinissowonderful.Ittinglessowithrichlife.Iloveitandmystrongmusclesunderneath.Ilovemyhandsandmyhairandmyeyes.Myhandsarelongandthinanddelicate;myeyesareadark,deepblue;myhairisabrown,rustyred,thickandsleepy.Mylong,firm,untiredlimbscandanceallnight.Oh,Ilovelife!Ilovelife!"

           YouwouldnothavecalledBereniceFlemingsensuousthoughshewasbecauseshewasself-controlled.Hereyesliedtoyou.Theyliedtoalltheworld.Theylookedyouthroughandthroughwithacalmsavoirfaire,amockingdefiance,whichsaidwithafaintcurlofthelips,barelysuggestedtohelpthemout,"Youcannotreadme,youcannotreadme."Sheputherheadtooneside,smiled,lied(byimplication),assumedthattherewasnothing.Andtherewasnothing,asyet.Yettherewassomething,tooherinmostconvictions,andtheseshetookgoodcaretoconceal.

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