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’ Mrs Ibstock’s lips tightened and she looked away a moment. You cannot—shall not retreat. Lucy, would you like to be my date for the silly little dance they call the Junior Prom?\" There was a pregnant pause as she digested the information. She had been in the drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had chattered gaily to every one. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. For a time they walked in silence. And guess what? I don’t sleep much, if you haven’t noticed. Very likely you will disapprove highly of what I have done—I wonder? You may, perhaps, think I have done it just in a fit of childish petulance because my father locked me in when I wanted to go to a ball of which he did not approve. “Well anyhow—I don’t see the force of your objection, you know.
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