Another door was next opened, and, preceded by the ordinary, with the sacred volume in his hand, the prisoner entered the room. On a high chair behind a raised counter the stipendiary’s substitute regarded her malevolently over his glasses. “You know, my mom caught me smoking once with Missy. So many things she saw that her interest stumbled rather than leaped from object to object. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror.
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