“There wasn’t. 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. "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. "You'd better surrender quietly, Jack," he cried; "you've no chance. ” He stood before the door. " "And you expect me to believe you after what has passed?" "I do; and, more than that, I expect you to thank me. ” “Ye—e—es. "Perhaps you don't know that this Darrell so contrived matters, that your child should be mistaken for his own; by which means it had a narrow escape from a tight cravat, I can assure you.
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