Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. ” His voice rose and fell amidst the music and the singing of Tristan and King Mark, like a voice heard in a badly connected telephone. My Mom and Dad were always 184 at work. " As she said this, she drew a little aside, while Mrs.
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