"I'm afraid we'll have to dig into his trunk," he said. ‘I thank you. 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. At any rate, here I am, and here I shall be, twenty thousand feet above all your poison-reeking cities, up where God’s wind comes fresh from heaven, very near indeed to the untrodden snows. Not like my father. She had never been able to discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror.
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