Then blackness. ‘I knew it. 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. And the grotesquest fact was that she did not so much loathe, as experience with a quite critical condemnation this strange sensation of being kissed. Utter silence answered him. “I’d give anything,” he remarked, “to see our little Vee happily and comfortably married.
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