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She would then partially recall the items that she had heard about him, presenting each at the angle that was the most likely to inflict pain. The shape of the head, the height and breadth of the brow, the angle of the nose, the cut of the chin and jaws, all were fine, of a type she had never before looked upon closely. She never forced the issue, it was their father’s job. She was as lovely in the spirit as in the flesh. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. 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.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 25-09-2024 05:28:02