Terror had laid a paralyzing hand upon her, fear kept her almost unconscious of the curious glances which she was continually attracting. She had to resist an impulse of sheer terror, to run out after them and give in. When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change.
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