The room they were in was a sort of closet, with the door locked outside; but this was only a moment's obstacle to Jack, who with a chisel forced back the bolt. Impressionable, lonely, a deal beyond his analytical reach, the girl might let her sympathies go beyond those of the nurse. “It’s just that he doesn’t seem like your type. “I’m sorry! Mary! Are you hurt?” “No. Sheila’s boys hadn’t been much help when they were around the house, anyway, they were more partial to lolling around on couches and running around with their girls. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged.
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