Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket. Usually it was fish sticks and reheated noodles.
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