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. Or else he was indeed obsessed. “Okay. "Come," said Wild, turning authoritatively to Jack,—"you have overstayed your time. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. I've foiled him hitherto, and will foil him yet. But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release. She had need of a devoted cavalier and Jack had proved eminently valuable. ‘Odds were against it.
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