*but Hamlet, you'll remember, never saw Ophelia in her madness, and this Hamlet least of all-- as it is, though, she's a very pretty young girl, and may bear resemblance to another pretty young girl he knows, one who he's recently had mind to court*
*and so he bows, some distance off, and calls out, jovial* What, ho, pretty lady!
Why, to be by some unknown invader startled is thy mere offense. *holds out his hands, as if to say 'look, I'm unarmed'* And now, to ask is proper: may I advance?
*her cheeks pink a little more at the touch* O, you did not. I--I do not know what I meant, to be in such disarray. *she puts a hand to the loose skirts of the white dress, anxiously*
*with permission, then, she goes back to her song, holding her skirts as if she were about to dance--but of course she can't, and furthermore she hasn't a partner*
*and so he bows, some distance off, and calls out, jovial* What, ho, pretty lady!
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