“Father,” she cried, “I have to live!” He misunderstood her. If only we are not divided. As much as it killed her, she kept her mouth shut. From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. His advice was mostly practical.
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