" Still his brain refused to assimilate the news or to deduce the tremendous importance of it. He waved an arm and spoke with a peculiar resonance. But it never said: "Tell someone! Tell someone!" Was he something of a moral pervert, then? Was it what he had lost—the familiar world—rather than what he had done? He stared dully at the footrail. She had asked about that already, and her father had replied, evasively: “We’ll have to see about that, little Vee; we’ll have to see about that. But while there's life there's hope. This child at once alarmed and thrilled them. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits.
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