The Becks were the best foster family that she had ever had. The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house. “It is hard to express one’s self, but I do want to be honest with you. See paragraph 1. 82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome.
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