She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. She located her foster family. Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around. And I have wanted to so very much. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. He glanced at his watch. “Act three. The door to the library burst open.
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