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stage from some mysterious inlet, a little girl in a dirty white frock,
with tucks up to the knees, short trousers, sandalled shoes, white
spencer, pink gauze bonnet, green veil and curl papers, who turned a
pirouette, then looking off in the opposite wing, shrieked, bounded
forward to within six inches of the footlights, and fell into a
beautiful attitude of terror, as a shabby gentleman in an old pair of
buff slippers came in at one powerful slide, and chattering his teeth
fiercely, brandished a walking-stick.

"They are going through, 'The Indian Savage and the Maiden,'" said Mrs.
Crummles.

"Oh!" said the manager, "the little ballet interlude. Very good. Go on.


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