CHAPTER V. 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. The smell assaulted them even before they entered the restaurant, greasy and savory. “Get me someone, Oracle. His sword then came in for his scrutiny: he felt at, and appeared satisfied with its edge.
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