” He plunged into one of his drawers, and brought up a small gold-foiled bottle. “Bit thick on the old man, isn’t it?” said Roddy, who had developed a bluff, straightforward style in the motor shop. It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. He laughed at her heartily, and she laughed too as she had not for a year. To settle things, you know. A familiar ache of wanting made itself more insistent in her belly. You just married her.
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