Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. ‘Parbleu,’ she uttered indignantly. He stared at her stupidly, forgetting to guard against the tactics he had come to expect from her. She found it rather funny that he always wore the shirt fastidiously tucked in and never wore the ensemble without a stiff brown leather belt. In the distance a bell clanged, and chattering broke out in the doorway as several nuns came crowding in. She directed the orchestra to tune again. “Please hurry.
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