You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. I’m okay. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. Wood had been my father, as well as yours.
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