Her father—man of rock—had never needed her, whereas Hoddy, even if he did not love her, would always be needing her. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. Oh, and weeks and months of thought and feeling there are bottled up too. F. Shari’s married and got two kids on her, a boy and a girl, twins, no less.
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