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... lyne, with her lovely pink hair and dangerous brain, had floated out of the garden like an elegant whisper of doom.
Meanwhile, I slumped onto the velvet chair beside Papa like a wilting flower in a royal tragedy, dramatically flopping my arms over the sides and sighing like the ghost of a tired duchess.
"I can’t believe I’m going to study again," I muttered to no one in particular, staring into the middle distance as if knowledge itself had betrayed me in a past life.
The ...
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