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There was absolute quiet. She realized in a moment what had happened. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. I’m ashamed to confess it, but I didn’t want the charge of you—a too close reminder of my own lost babe. . The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. So I am already no longer the girl you knew at Morningside Park. We’ve done nothing to deserve it. Moreover, he's a Yale University man, and he'd be good company. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. At the bottom of the trunk was a large manila envelope, unmarked.
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