” She patted his arm and wiped her tears away. Lucy kissed him on the cheek. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. A young man was playing the banjo. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. Now I have done something for which you might be pardoned if you did kill me. But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction.
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