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Her heavy pistol came up again, although she did not rise. 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. She kept her face downcast. “Where have you been? All these hours I have been calling for you. ’ ‘I don’t know,’ confessed Gerald. I don’t know if I express myself clearly. "You'll never return. I have only one question to ask you. He drove to his apartment, a second floor studio he 120 was renting above a bakery. Likely as not outside the law, too. What his head conceived his hand executed.

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