My last foster father in Alabama before the Becks was a heavy drug abuser. ‘I suppose you think I can’t manage it myself,’ had complained Captain Roding sarcastically. "Where can I hide myself?" he added, glancing round the room in search of a closet. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. " She had no reason to doubt him.
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