Horrible doubts assailed her. ‘Desist, you little devil,’ he growled in her ear. 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. She stepped backwards. Did he like freaks? She opened her black umbrella, her giant sun deflector. Also he is ugly. ‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. Would to God I had.
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