He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty. These were so outside her experience that she found it possible to thrust them almost out of sight by saying they would be “all right” in confident tones to herself. “Why? Do you think I’m a stoner?” He asked. The benches running round the room, though fastened to the walls by iron clamps, had been forcibly wrenched off; while the table, which was similarly secured to the boards, was upset, and its contents—bottles, jugs, glasses, and bowls were broken and scattered about in all directions. Wood, I command you not to stir," vociferated the carpenter's better-half; "recollect you'll be answerable to me. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. Recollect that. She had had to do away with many a leering foster father since she had started frequenting foster homes in the middle of the century. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent.
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