Jack! Mon dieu, but he was unarmed. It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. No police officers or lurking storms were anywhere in sight. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. A murmur ran through the assemblage, by several of whom Jack was recognised.
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