F. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. “What have you been doing since our last talk? Still cutting up rabbits and probing into things? I’ve often thought of that talk of ours—often. Manning’s letter. Let's talk of this chap. An admirable alternative presented itself and she sighed, spreading her hands. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. Who says that I am not Meysey Hill? I was trying to scare you.
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