She thought gleefully of the dress she would get to wear for the Ball (Prom?) and could not wait to tell her foster family about how excited she was. She came to her one day and pulled on her apron. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. Annabel a murderess! It was not possible. “Here, dis is for you.
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