Run along while I rig up and get the part in my hair straight. And still you interest yourself in my affairs. When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. Very dark, like yours, ma’am. She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care for them. Without her, it was lonely. Brown engaged in the usual browbeating and complaining he reserved for sections who came in late and soloists who left tempo behind like the leftovers of a Sunday picnic.
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