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planned, with a pure heart, full of heaven born impulses; a woman with refined manners and delicate sensibilities; a woman that knows something of dress, something of society and something more of life.  Look at her in the ballroom dressed with elegance[[strikethrough]]and[[/strikethrough]]simplicity and exquisite taste.   Take one glance at the mysterious and multitudonous folds of her dress, and then [[strikethrough]] wath [[/strikethrough]] watch her keeping rythmic time to the music divine her every movement the embodiment of grace and the poetry of motion. You are in doubt whether to call her a woman, or half an angel, half a woman. Think of such a being full of life, tenderness and joy, and then go in imagination a thousand miles to our western frontier, and then by the light of some camp fire which throws a lurid glare over the wooded scene, watch Mrs Sitting Bull who has prepared herself for an evenings amusement.  She has on her face fully as much paint as her modern sister but it is less evenly distributed.  Her jewelry is plain and simpler consisting of a single piece pendant from her nose.  The occasion not being a dress affair she wears nothing but a string of beads and a bracelet.  On a pole near the fire we see a lock of some man's hair whose murdered soul has gone to heaven to protest against savage butchery.  Old Sitting Bull sounds

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