‘That is better, no?’ ‘Dieu. . A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. Nasty, damp passages. 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.
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