He thought, too, of the fretful invalid who lay in the next room to his, whose money had created his business and made his position in the world. “What a little brick!” he murmured. Get the pole out of your ass. 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.
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