Lately I haven't seen that ugly lady crazy on the dancing machine. She had carried on practising, as I guess, to be an excellent dancer. I feel as if she could succeed, however impossible I feel as well. I think the hardship for her was more than a sparrow to the phoenix.

She, when I call her "ugly lady", was too poor-looking. Her figure was skeletons, which looked not slim but like a deformed puppet. Such condition was hell for a dancer.

But one day when I walked by the dancing machine with my mother, I introduced that dancer to her. "She spends her life here," I told my mother with a good opinion.

There used to be a group of people watching her. If I were her, I would be much more nervous than encouraged. But she was not excessive to be either. Despite that, she was especially bold when she was dancing with a partner.

But lately I haven't seen her. What is left is the unstoppable and somehow noisy music against which are the other fancy dancers. It makes me think that she hasn't been expecting all the way to achieve what actually the audience expect. She had just been indulging herself.