I will never wed you. Ann Veronica glanced at the mirror to discover a flushed and dishevelled disorder. It did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. 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. To his relief, Mrs Sindlesham stepped into the breach, grasping her cane and rising painfully from her chair. He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. Her father had determined on a new line.
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