Hell, my mom hates everyone, don’t take this personally, but she doesn’t like you very much and she isn’t shy about letting me know. Let her have her own way in all things, for she will always be just. We’ll be somewhere on the floor above. She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. ” She was altogether hysterical now. You are—horrible. Let’s face it, she hates Missy’s guts.
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