Secretly she was gratified to be assigned to the rôle of an old traveller. 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. Chairs were overturned. “He just wants to get laid, you know. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly.
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