It 163 invariably leads to trouble. 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. “Is that a challenge?” She shrugged her shoulders, all ablaze with jewels. “When did you start?” She said between puffs. He felt hands tugging at him, mysterious creatures with long fingers and sharp nails that pulled at his flesh.
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