God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly. “Do all foster kids have the instinct?” Michelle asked naively. Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts. And I don't want anything of yours destroyed, Hoddy.
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