" A detective. I know all. “Go it, miss!” cried one. 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. Then instantly she got out of bed and proceeded to dress. ‘What am I looking for?’ ‘A miniature. \"What's that?\" Lucy asked. She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. It was a beautiful place that she had found, a round cave by a small stream.
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