It was the blood she found that cemented her decision that her foster daughter was a criminal. It was a brief solitude, however. It always comes out sooner or later. They were going up the slope into Waterloo Station. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. “I thought we had discussed that, father. They had turned into the street, on the opposite side of which were the flats where Anna lived.
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