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"What do you say? I thought you loved the girl?", "Also, Miss Dallas must have had a horror of seeing constantly before her the man whom--innocently enough--she tried to kill. Hence her refusal to marry your dear Maurice. Am I wrong in these ideas? I think not. Still I should like an explanation from you. As I shall be here for some months--searching for the Voodoo stone and Dido--please send your letter to Barbadoes, directed to your anxious inquirer, Max Etwald.", I'll never forget my first real party. I was bridesmaid for Caroline Evans, when she married a Birmingham magnate, from which Hillsboro has never yet recovered. It was the week before the wedding. I was sixteen, felt dreadfully unclothed without a tucker in my dress, and saw Alfred for the first time in evening clothes—his first. I can hardly stand thinking about how he looked even now. I haven't been to very many parties in my life, but from this time on I mean to indulge in them often. Candle-light, pretty women's frocks, black coat sleeves, cut glass and flowers are good ingredients for a joy-drink, and why not?.