She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. "Sign this," he said, pushing the document towards Sir Rowland.
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