She frowned, appearing to think for a moment. If he had got off, they might have hanged me, and welcome. 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. One night, she drew close to him in bed, trying to warm herself by embracing his back. Meanwhile, the executioner had attached strong cords to his ankles and wrists, and fastened them tightly to the iron rings. “I cannot say who he is,” said Ann Veronica, “but he is a married man.
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