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. With an open hand, he slapped her face. “I should really like to find somewhere to stay, if it was only for a few nights. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. I can’t even carry a tune with a bucket.
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