My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. Not so bad. "To-morrow it will be mine. Lincoln lost to Glenbrook South miserably, the score eight to two. “You do not quite understand,” she said gently.
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