" "So you think," muttered Jack, between his ground teeth. " Carefully depositing Winifred on a sofa, Jack then extinguished the light, and, as he unfastened the door, crept behind 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. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. “What can one say?” she exclaimed.
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