It’s his M.O. Shit, Harold, you don’t look surprised she’s not yours. Did Linda tell you? Did you keep her kid around just for this?”The littl... man, the worm, in the chair next to me, said nothing. Denied nothing. Suddenly all my father’s… all Harold’s mistreatment of me made sense. It wasn’t just drunk fury and indifference. I wasn’t his. He didn’t care, not for Mom, and certainly not for me. She’d left me behind and he’d used me as his maid.“I’ll ask again, Harold. what’s your plan now that. His breakfast, plus whatever fruits of the wood he came by, sustained him, and springs were easily found where he could refill his water bottle. He never took part in any of the activities on the farm, not in the ones for children, of course, but also not in the other ones. He almost never returned before nightfall, soon after his arrival able to walk the paths back to the farm even in the dark, and immediately went to his cottage.Dinner waited for him in his room — bread and meat from the. More

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