Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. His name is carved upon a beam up stairs. ” They remained looking at each other for three or four seconds. “I thought we had discussed that, father. She went to her bedroom, but she did not go to bed. ” She assented, smiling. ‘I am not in the least in a rage. She looked around the apartment for other people. The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs. Some day I may forgive you; but not now.
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