She felt smaller and more adventurous even than she had expected to feel. He too looked at the girl, slackened his pace and looked at her again through his eye-glasses, looked over his shoulder after he had passed, and finally came to a dead stop. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. He wore a long coat, beautifully flowered, and a hat with a turned up brim. Taking up a link, which was blazing beside him, he walked across the room; and touching a spring in the wall, a secret door flew open.
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