Compared with her father and Mr. 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. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. She slid the dress off, naked underneath. A mutual recognition took place at the same instant between the stranger and this individual.
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