But it was only six-thirty. . ” She awoke out of a doze, as though she had never been sleeping. She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt. 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. "Hear! hear!" vociferated Quilt. Those are all nice things, but it’s not what I want.
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