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 was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. \"God, it's too curly for a brush. ” She brought her knees up to her chest, and rocked back and forth like a small child. Suddenly remembering Kimble, her heart thudded with excitement. U.
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