‘Parbleu, is this a moment to be out of town? What is the matter with him that he is out of town when I need him?’ ‘Famous!’ uttered a new voice from the doorway. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. She limited herself to eating once a fortnight, until she discovered that she could go without comfortably for a month. She married my Dad in a small ceremony down at City Hall.
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