I want to get away—to go to London. It was Annabel’s. 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. E. ’ ‘Ah, non?’ Her voice was neutral. Leonardo had not taught her to do so. What was the objection? She found it impossible to look her own diffidence in the face.
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