Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that it struck the child and the grown-up impartially. She was given a glimpse of his soul. But, when I look upon his innocent face, and see how like he is to his father,—when I think of that father's shameful ending, and recollect how free from guilt he once was,—at such times, Mr. But there was an abiding serpent in this Eden. ‘Of course not,’ snapped his friend. The class of guests we have are all permanent, and I am obliged to be very careful indeed.
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