A blowzy young woman, in orange color and green, with short tinsel-covered skirts, bounded wearily on to the stage, smiling, and began to sing: "Je suis une boite de surprises." [Please select]
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Je suis une boite de surprises. [Please select]
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Yes, there is your boite at last: take it into a corner, you genuine daughter of Paris, and amuse yourself with disembowelling it, said the deep and rather sarcastic voice of Mr. [Please select]
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Fairfax, than she summoned her to her sofa, and there quickly filled her lap with the porcelain, the ivory, the waxen contents of her boite; pouring out, meantime, explanations and raptures in such broken English as she was mistress of. [Please select]
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