"But I dread the effect your departure may have upon your poor mother. "I mean what I say," replied Jonathan. 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. ‘I am not French in the least, bête. The unpleasant oily chill of fever overtook her body, and she watched in horror as Sebastian carried her to his bed on his shoulder like a sack of flour. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like,’ he repeated blankly.
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