’ ‘Your major will tell you nothing at all,’ put in the young lady acidly, ‘because certainly I am going to kill him. She could not see any relief from this anxiety except repayment, and repayment seemed impossible. 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. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. "Your faults were the faults of circumstances. The house became joyous again with the talk of babies and wedding festivities. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. She pushed the former and it opened.
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