” Lucy knew exactly which blouse Sheila had found. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. Her head swam. She found her foster father and Mike still awake, playing high stakes UNO at the dimly lit kitchen table. And now her father said she must not go. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. “I trust you altogether. John, he was between me and the door. " "Be silent dog," cried Jonathan. She veiled her emotion by taking off his overcoat. ’ ‘How shocking.
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