He put down his hat and umbrella, rested his hands on his hips, and regarded Ann Veronica firmly. And, in spite of the boy's resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature. 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.
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