It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. And yet—I love you. At half after five that afternoon the doctor and his friend McClintock entered the office of the Victoria. She thought of the smiles she would gather when she brought forth his first grandson. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato.
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