His curiosity put itself into a question. “No, I mean that we should assemble ourselves in case your parents arrive home. "Stay!" interposed Jonathan. ’ He sighed elaborately. It was below consciousness, elusive; so he sent out a call to his friend, defensively. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling.
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