The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. You have to marry me. A familiar ache of wanting made itself more insistent in her belly. They weren’t very chummy with one another but Sheila 113 didn’t expect much from a foster daughter as long as she worked hard, very hard, to earn her keep. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. Her heart swelled to suffocation.
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