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. ‘You could have fetched me home. " "Is she alive?" repeated the widow. “Dear me! I wonder what I ought to do. " The phrase was new, but Ruth nodded understandingly. I can’t rest or work or settle down to anything while things are like this between you and me. But I will not believe you. Teenage boys never change, she thought to herself. ” “No,” she moaned, “not that. It was still possible the child might be in safety. “I heard the clock strike as I crossed the square,” she answered. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. She sensed he might try and wane on her doorstep. When the paroxysm passed, he was forced to lean against the window-jamb for support.
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