He made a quick movement towards her, but she did not flinch. It was perfectly logical. Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her. 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. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. " But he searched in vain. To perdition with them all. “Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone.
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