Slowly a mirthless and very unpleasant smile dawned upon his face. Here again instinct guided her. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. “I don’t think I CAN do that,” she said. 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. The pursuit of pleasure, selfgratification, is an original instinct with her.
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