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There wasn’t, I know, between myself and my father. And son of a pig,’ she grunted, baring her teeth. “I murdered them, John. 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. Shall I sew it on for you?" "If you wish. ” “I have denied it,” she answered.
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