She led him up the long hall solemnly. Wood. When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear. But in the train going home her aunt reasoned it out. She unlaced his pants and slid them down his hips, examining him as he stood before her naked.
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