She even hit the jackpot in 1952 when she found a photograph in a London issue of Vogue. 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. "I'm dumb. ’ ‘Of what use to be ladylike when I cannot be a lady?’ ‘None of that. But your role would have been to go about saying, ‘I beg your pardon’ in a reproving tone to things you understood quite well in your heart and saw no harm in.
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