“I know that our social order is dreadful enough,” he said, “and sacrifices all that is best and most beautiful in life. Her hair is like, white blonde, but trust me, it’s not her natural color. She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. “When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. Figg?" said Jack, peevishly. "Two hundred pounds!" exclaimed Ireton, "besides the governor's offer—that's three hundred.
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