The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. 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. ” Mr.
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