With an open hand, he slapped her face. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. ’ She shook her head. One glance swept across the place and it was immediately apparent that Pottiswick had not, this time, been mistaken.
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