Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. But he was wide awake. She thought of Capes. She sensed he might try and wane on her doorstep. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested. “So should you. Twenty guineas, mind. I was sure you could not have the heart to slay a child—an innocent child. ‘Well?’ he uttered between heavy breaths.
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