There were probably others buried around the 13 house, she had seen a suspicious working refrigerator in the back of the garage mess, but she wasn’t about to check it out. Shoplatch. Of all the entirely English women I know, you’re the only one with a French accent. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. There was a gentle rustling of skirts. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. “Better state of mind,” she gasped. I said to myself, ‘this will come.
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