He was a good foster dad that had never so much as leered at her, not even once. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. Arrived in the plantation she sat down with her back against a tree trunk. She caught at the idea. ’ ‘You would speak of the house?’ ‘Many’s the time little Miss Mary would say her papa meant for her to have it, she having no brothers and sisters at all—when we played together I mean, she and me and Joan Pottiswick.
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