“Really,” she said. "How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. Since Mary predeceased Jarvis, Nicholas could scarcely argue himself to be my brother’s next of kin.
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