" Here she began to blubber loudly for sympathy. CHAPTER II. Then Sheila noticed the stains. Nobody ever called me John, that I recollect. ’ For the moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen. There were always parrots and parrakeets screaming in the fruit groves. They weren’t very chummy with one another but Sheila 113 didn’t expect much from a foster daughter as long as she worked hard, very hard, to earn her keep. It is queer how ideas pop into one's head.
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