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. “Now you must go,” she said firmly. His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. All the initial confidence in herself was gone; her courage was merely a shell to hide the lack. She was as fair as the lily of the lotus.
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