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“How is it you grow more awful every year?” I took up my quiver and bow, my pulse like a drum in my ears. “That is progress, at least. While you remain precisely the same.”
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Tristan is awful, but this is low even for him.” Papa paused before speaking. “As much as I would like to place this fault entirely at his door, I do not think he is the one you are truly angry with.” “No?” I turned to face him. “Because I feel like I could hit him over the head with my bow and feel very little remorse. Is that not anger?” He grinned. “That would certainly make any upcoming dinner parties somewhat awkward.”
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Papa laughed. “Plotting a murder, are you?” “You were the one who encouraged outside thinking.” “Perhaps something within the confines of the law.” I sighed dramatically. “You are no fun at all.”
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“But what a competition. You were brilliant, of course.” Iris’s dramatics made it easy to pull away from the emptying pain of losing. I wanted to escape. “I am never anything less,” I said with a wink. Mama sighed as she and Papa moved past us toward the fair. “My daughters. Humble and unpretentious.”
“I would rather have one true friend than a thousand false ones.” She smiled, unruffled. “You wound me. But at least I have my thousand false friends to help me recover.”
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After all, what was the point of being a ladies’ society if the food was not infinitely better?
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Most people had no particular wish to know me better, and neither did I want them to. I preferred to keep to myself, because making conversation with anyone I did not know well was torture akin to having hot oil poured on me. And while I never strived for rudeness, I did not know how to be anything but abrupt and frank.
All eyes swung to me, an experience I could have avoided completely if I had not insisted on making friends.
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Tristan stood there, hands in his pockets, watching me with a pained expression. His hair was damp with the misty rain, curling around his ears, and a new bandage was wrapped around his head, a strip of pure white. He wore no jacket over his rain-speckled shirtsleeves. My pulse quickened.
“Prepare yourself,” I warned Tristan. He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not afraid of a society matron.” “Silly, silly man,” I said with a sigh as I led him over.