"I might be terrible," Zelda admitted, a little playful still. She let go of him and smoothed out the skirts of her dress; it was white and she could not entirely tell whether or not it was any more rumpled than it had been when she got here, but she was sort of assuming. She might be terrible, and she was certainly teasing him more than she ought to be, and she did not want to go back to this wedding.

"I need to switch gloves," she said, grinning again.

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