54 \"Yes?\" \"No one says 'Oh my word' anymore. Her skin prickled. Detention was merry for the other detainees. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. My last foster father in Alabama before the Becks was a heavy drug abuser. Sheppard's door, they were always sufficiently on the alert to maintain their privileges, and to assist each other against the attacks of their common enemy— the sheriff's officer.
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