Both girls looked pale and listless. ‘And housebreaking,’ added Gerald calmly. She listened with dumb fear in her eyes. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. The door closed softly upon her. On the walls were noticeboards bearing clusters of newspaper slips, three or four big posters of monster meetings, one of which Ann Veronica had attended with Miss Miniver, and a series of announcements in purple copying-ink, and in one corner was a pile of banners.
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