Better come another morning. Part 7 Then one day a little thing happened that clothed itself in significance. But the relief from the strain of her immediate necessities was immense. It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. ‘Come, I am concerned merely for your safety, you know. “I think we have,” he answered, gravely, and took her in his arms, and smoothed her hair from her forehead, and very tenderly kissed her lips.
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