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July 17, 2007
The entire ballroom, made up of painted faces, both covered in make-up and faking emotions atop emotions, stared in muted interest at her. They awaited her response so they could twitter, pretending to care about each other’s opinions and loving the sounds of their voices. Then the next day and well into a fortnight later, they could tell neighbors, acquaintances, decidedly disliked brethren that they had indeed been there. They had seen him, the filth, brazenly swagger into the Doloberrithem’s winter ball and ask for her hand to dance.

She ignored them, as she always did and smiled. “My pleasure.”