’ She waved towards a handy table to one side which was piled high with so many volumes, it looked in imminent danger of crashing to the floor. Particles of bullet were embedded in Rhea’s large arm as she swung across the stones in her donated legs. 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. ‘Ain’t my place, I know that. " "Hear me, Madam, I beseech you," interposed Mrs.
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