" He shook his head. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that. Very doubtful. He had forgiven everybody. "Shall I never see that sweet face again,—never feel the pressure of those kind hands more—nor listen to that gentle voice! Ah! yes, we shall meet again in Heaven, where I shall speedily join you.
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