I get along with my Mom sometimes, Lucy. Nothing, in short, portable or valuable was left. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. Opposite, his pupil stood with bowed head and clasped hands. And, if Rachel had not carried a candle, the room would have been plunged in total darkness. He is big and powerful; one of those drinkers who show it but little outwardly. We smirk, and we’re a bit—furtive.
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