“Why do you need to go for a walk, Michelle?” Diane asked darkly. 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. " "Not now," returned Thames, impatiently. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. " "For mercy's sake, go on!" cried Winifred.
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