Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind. She was always initiating petty breaches of discipline. Do have some tea, won’t you? If you must, go then. God knows how you did it. ‘You said it. Why don’t you just tell me what is going on with you! Why the police questioned you! Why they’re looking for your mother? I’ll understand! Just tell me and I swear to God Lucy I’ll understand. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. Something he saw there made him feel for a moment ashamed. Her eyes followed him.
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