Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. John knew better. “But I still think of my old foster brothers and sisters. Mrs. Kneebone, or, as he would have preferred being styled, Captain Kneebone, was not perfectly satisfied with the recommendations forwarded by the applicants. She descended down the stairs of the house, sidestepping the refuse from bingedrinking teenagers that was strewn everywhere. I shouldn't talk like that.
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