None at all. ’ ‘Do not make a game with me,’ she interrupted, gripping her underlip firmly between her teeth to stop the threatening laughter. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. Even in the daylight, it had a sombre and suspicious air, and seemed to slink back from the adjoining houses, as if afraid of their society. From under his pillow he dragged forth the key to the trunk. The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs.
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