“I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. She looked about, watching a massive green storm cloud building in the west. Breakfast, too, was an impossible occasion. “Called myself Anna,” the girl repeated coolly. If she could have held it in, perhaps the Virgin Mary would have sent her a miracle as reward for her strength. I can’t even make myself care. "Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content.
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