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the Ondine dancing for herself, dancing, or rather whirling, in a veritable abandon of delight, spinning round and round until at last she feil exhausted on the bed, to lie there trembling, huddled amid a pile of hooped petticoats, her burning cheek pressed against the coolness of the pillow.

And any one watching this fantastic scene would have been right to conclude that the Naiad, enchantress of so many mortals, was at last herself bewitched.

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