Her aunt went out of the room with dignity and a rustle, and up-stairs to the fastness of her own room. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. She disengaged her hands and stood up. “We will take it then,” he said, “that you have refused or ignored one request I have made you this morning. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. ‘Now what?’ The guard jerked his head up the corridor.
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