She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. ” “I came here to talk reasonably, Mr. There was something markedly and deliberately liberal-minded in his manner in all their encounters. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. Wood. " "Well, that's fine. Oriental rugs adorned the sea of shiny hardwood floors, kept polished with an eye for detail that bordered on Japanese. When in the plenitude of his power, he commenced a terrible trade, till then unknown—namely, a traffic in human blood. She says that everyone in the house makes too much noise, my Dad snores, and that when the house is empty, the traffic noise is nearly deafening.
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