He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. 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. At breakfast both of them played their parts skillfully. I didn’t know. “Hey John, how’s it going?” “Hey Michelle.
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