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. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. “Perhaps you will not object to answering one for me. ‘They lived with him, one after the other, for all the world as his wife.
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