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. “I heard nothing,” he declared, “and my ears are good. She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified. Accordingly, on their presentation, Mr. He wasn't satisfied with an assured income from the paper-mills your grandfather left us. She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent.
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