" "Impossible, dear Mrs. She came along with the fluttering assurance of some tall ship. More than half the city perished. She would take this one back with her. “Mom, this is the girl I asked to Prom, Lucy. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. Maggot. Q.
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