"He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. " "You are from America?" "Yes. Somebody to whom she would be necessary, who for days would have to depend upon her for the needs of life. Some day I'm going to paint her; but that will be when I've retired. He laughed at her heartily, and she laughed too as she had not for a year. The future? He dared not speculate upon that. “Did your foster dads ever try to molest you?” “Of course they did, John.
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