“I don’t care a rap for remembering. 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. ’ The snaking suspicion rolled through his mind again. Wood obeyed. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict.
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