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“What!" Said she, "this rogue knows our secret, and you never told me! I must lose no time in getting rid of him" "But how?" "Why, by having him taken to the tower with the dungeons, of course." For this was the way that in old times beautiful princesses got rid of people who knew to much. —the 12 dancing princesses”

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Beauty and the Beast and Other Classic Fairy Tales

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various

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“And I have one more important thing to let go of. "Em?" I ask as we are cleaning up the dinner dishes. "Yeah?" "You mentioned that when you went to look at your apartment that your upstairs neighbor had two puggles?" "Yeah, Flotsam and Jetsam. So freaking cute." "So the place takes dogs." "Yes..." "If you want, if it wouldn't be a pain in your ass, I think maybe you should take Schatzi with you." "But... she's your dog!" "You and I both know that this dog hates me. She is more your dog than mine, and to be honest, she's lost enough this year. She loved Grant, and she lost him. She had doggie friends in that neighborhood, and she's lost them too. She loved Liam..." I don't even want to finish that sentence. "The bottom line is that she adores you and has from the moment you first arrived, and I know you love her too. I think it would be great for both of you." Emily throws her arms around me. "You are the best sister in the world." "I think you are the best sister, I'm just trying to catch up.”

“After dinner I text Chris to see if she wants to come over, but she doesn't text back. She's probably out with one of the guys she hooks up my scrapbooking. with. Which is fine. I should catch up on I was hoping to be done with Margot's scrapbook before she left for college, but as anyone who's ever scrapbooked knows, Rome wasn't built in a day. You could spend a year or more working on one scrapbook. I've got Motown girl-group music playing, and my sup plies are laid out all around me in a semicircle. My heart hole punch, pages and pages of scrapbook paper, pictures I've cut out of magazines, glue gun, my tape dispenser with all my different colored washi tapes. Souvenirs like the playbill from when we saw Wicked in New York, receipts, pictures. Ribbon, buttons, stickers, charms. A good scrap book has texture. It's thick and chunky and doesn't close all the way.”

“Tell Anne..." I broke off. There was too much to send in one message. There were long years of rivalry and then a forced unity and always and ever, underpinning our love for each other, our sense that the other must be bested. How could I send her one word which would acknowledge all of that, and yet tell her that I loved her still, that I was glad I had been her sister, even though I knew she had brought herself to this point and taken George here too? That, though I would never forgive her for what she had done to us all, at the same time, I totally and wholly understood? "Tell her what?" Catherine hovered, waiting to be released. "Tell her that I think of her," I said simply. "All the time. Every day. The same as always.”