"You had better let me convey her to Dollis Hill," he said. 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. He stood still, almost breathless. Pausing at each door on the landing, Jack placed his ear to the keyhole, and listened intently.
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