Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. The same overly curly pubic hair, which she now saw was trying to protrude from the sides of her bikini underwear. I don’t know why he was allowed into the system in the first place, but he had two kids of his own.
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