No one. ” Her mind diverged to other aspects, and another type of womanhood. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. ‘I broke in. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive.
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