She found her foster father and Mike still awake, playing high stakes UNO at the dimly lit kitchen table. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. Forgive my daring. 133 “TRY ME!” He yelled, his voice booming into the cacophony beyond the walls. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. "My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome.
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