When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. She frowned and gripped her hands about her knees very tightly. " "All right. The pistol was his own, it is true, but it was one which was taken from him when he forced his way in upon me before. Suppose her father turned her out of doors! She did not care, she meant to go. Anna sat quite still for a moment, and then the colour suddenly returned to her cheeks.
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