Prudence shook her head. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. He fell backwards on his butt, the wind knocked out of him. We smirk, and we’re a bit—furtive. " Aware apparently in some degree, of the mistake she had committed, the poor maniac sprang towards him with frantic violence, and planted her long nails in his cheek.
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