Will you marry me?” Anna looked at him in blank amazement. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. It’s an engagement ring. Prudence was the substance and Angelina the shadow; for Angelina never offered opinions, she only agreed with those advanced by Prudence. The girl had told him distinctly that her name was Anna.
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