"Let me see," replied Wood; "exactly twelve years ago last November. Not much to his surprise, Jack Kimble shook his head. He lit a cigarette and loitered about. 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. One day I can be a Gothic chick, and the next day I’ll be Hitler Youth. Miching Mallecho. You're easy to please. “Annabel!” He looked at her thoughtfully.
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