Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. ” “You are sure that he asked for me—not for Annabel?” “Certain,” Courtlaw answered. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. So appalling was the sight, that even the murderers—familiar as they were with scenes of slaughter,—looked aghast at it.
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