"Halloa, widow!" shouted a rough voice from below, "where the devil are you?" Mrs. 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. She felt that Ann Veronica had duped her in that dream, and now that she had come up to London she might as well speak her mind. And your great-niece.
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