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She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. “I ought to have done. ‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. She was always initiating petty breaches of discipline. Too late she realised that Emile was not trying to escape. "Not a single whooper-upter! Nothing but torment and remorse … and Ruth! Children, put your arms around me.
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