I wouldn't allow you to be honest even if you could be so,—which I doubt. Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true. “How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. “Mike, what’s going on?” She sat up, groggily rubbing her eyes. 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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