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” “That’s one of our differences. 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. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. What she admired in her man was his resolute defense of his opinions. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person.
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