She stared at his pleading face. \"So John, are you two lovebirds going to the Junior Prom or what?\" He paused, smirking. No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. Then, after Capes had been through her work and had gone on, it came to her that the fabric of this life of hers was doomed to almost immediate collapse; that in a little while these studies would cease, and perhaps she would never set eyes on him again. “You were going to answer it?” “Certainly not!” she said deliberately. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living.
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