It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. To his relief, she nodded. “I’m not going to kill you, John. ‘Now then, my lad, you’re under arrest you are. " He paused, and not without malice. You go home and live on the G. Michelle had begged her to do it.
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