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The · Record · of · Roses


The Midsummer Ball.

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For a child of her age those eyes were intense things watching as the boy settled near, her face puckered in the way of one prepared to defend herself from a coming verbal-belittling. There was a careful way in which her mouth did begin to twist, retort resting upon the very tip of her tongue. Whacking at things certainly was not boring in any way!

It was a retort that would never come, not while this odd boy did present such a splendid challenge.

Dark eyes were squinting, peering through the weeping droop of willow branches -attention sharp upon the spread of delicate and rich desserts. Watch the very corners of her mouth carefully, the way that it did twitch upwards in the slow spread of a very impish expression.

"Easily," the girl child would agree. "You have any idea how?" The bustle and activity beyond the safety of this shared fortress was watched intently now.

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