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” “What?” He asked. 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. “I forbid it!” she said firmly. The note-passer lagged behind with her. But that, and that sort of thing, is just a day-dream. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped.
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