“The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed. ’ ‘Comment?’ she demanded with some heat. It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. She was fiercely and bitterly jealous. " "You need not," replied Jack, in a tone of the deepest compunction. I’ve got to run to get to my Study Hall.
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