Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. She sat perfectly still, however. When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. “Did your foster dads ever try to molest you?” “Of course they did, John. Womanhood is sacred to me. To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-loving parasite—something quite insignificant.
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