She was pleased and a little flattered by his interest and sympathy. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. But she perceived that to tell Manning of her Ramage adventures as they had happened would be like tarring figures upon a water-color. Nothing to check their proceedings but a declining habit of telling the truth and the limitations of their imaginations. " "We won't trust you, my youngster," answered the janizary.
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