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Dowson, Ernest Christopher, 1867-1900

"With a memoir by Arthur Symons"

When she smiled, which was often, her face was
very attractive, and a good many people were induced to throw a sou for the
smile which they would have assuredly grudged to the music.
Though we were about the same age, the position which it might have been
expected we should occupy was reversed. It was Ninette who petted and
protected me--I who clung to her.
I was very fond of Ninette, certainly. I should have died in those days if
it had not been for her, and sometimes I am surprised at the tenacity of my
tenderness for her. As much as I ever cared for anything except my art,
I cared for Ninette. But still she was never the first with me, as I must
have been with her. I was often fretful and discontented, sometimes, I
fear, ready to reproach her for not taking more pains to alleviate our
misery, but all the time of our partnership Ninette never gave me a cross
word. There was something maternal about her affection, which withstood all
ungratefulness. She was always ready to console me when I was miserable,
and throw her arms round me and kiss me when I was cold; and many a time, I
am sure, when the day's earnings had been scanty, the little girl must have
gone to sleep hungry, that I might not be stinted in my supper.


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