‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. ” Michelle patted Lucy’s shoulder reassuringly. . ’ ‘But you don’t look anything like her,’ burst out Mrs Ibstock. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. He kissed her once inside the car. Perhaps it was just as well there was no inherited memory. Perhaps an hour later he would begin again. Out of an old family album: here was the very comparison that had eluded him.
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