” “I have been through dozens of foster parents, John. " At this moment, Saint Sepulchre's clock struck six. It was hard to resist. Prudence Remenham. She fled. She was in deadly earnest in everything she did. He sat back in an easy chair with a hand upon each of the elbows, and looked steadfastly into the fire. " There was no danger in admitting this fact. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. Almost light-heartedly.
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