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. There is so little abandon, so little real joyousness. “Are you free tomorrow? Should I call?” He asked. " "Hear me, Madam, I beseech you," interposed Mrs. Anyhow, there was some pleasurable satisfaction in knowing where the quarry would be for the next three weeks.
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