She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. "Let us in," said the Master, rapping his truncheon authoritatively against the boards, "or we'll force an entrance. Take my advice. He was a good foster dad that had never so much as leered at her, not even once. Never had he been so intrigued. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. I didn’t allow myself to see things as they were in those days; now I do.
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