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Grace Wallflower


“Do you even know what he looks like?” Constance asked.

“No, but I’m sure I would recognize him anywhere.”

“How so?”

Violet shut her eyes for a moment and smiled. “He wrestled bears and hiked canyons, fought Indians and rescued damsels in distress.”

Grace and Constance gaped at their friend.

“He must be very strong. Like Hercules.” Violet raised her arms and flexed her muscles.

The girls giggled.

“His hair is probably long and dark, with a thick beard. And Americans usually wear gun belts.”

“Not all of them. And definitely not to a ball,” a male voice replied softly.

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