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Grace Wallflower


Edmund glanced at Percy. “Who?”

“Grace Elliot.”

“The ice maiden?”

Charles growled and Edmund started.

Percy clapped Edmund on the back. “Don’t take it personally, old chum. Charles is coming to terms with his feelings.”

“You’re in love with Grace Elliot?”

“I’m not in love.”

“Infatuated? Enamored? Smitten? Obsessed?”

“Shut it, Percy. I am not amused.”

Edmund looked across the room. “There she is! My word, is that Constance Beanpole?”

“Maypole, you mean,” Charles corrected.

“Right. Sorry. She used to be so skinny, and towered over us.”

“Looks like she’s filled out quite nicely,” Percy noted.


“Not you too!”

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