Let—it—fall. They weren’t very chummy with one another but Sheila 113 didn’t expect much from a foster daughter as long as she worked hard, very hard, to earn her keep. “Do not look so uncomfortable, both of you,” she begged. . . CHAPTER XIII. Apparently she was always doomed to weep when she talked to her father. Her lips came together with an expression between contentment and the faintest shadow of a smile, her manner was one of quiet reserve, and behind this mask she was wildly discontented and eager for freedom and life. And also she didn’t like them.
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