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Pleasantly she nodded, and verbally agreed. "And

what would you like for yourself?" she asked. "Freedom! I want to be let out. I'm tired of being

in a locked room. I want the twins out; I want Chris

out. I want you to rent a house, buy a house, steal a

house--but get us out of this house!"

"Cathy," she began to plead, "I'm doing the best I

can. Don't I bring you gifts every time I come through

the door? What is it you lack besides bananas? Name

it!"

"You promised we'd stay up here but a short

while--and it's been months."

She spread her hands in a supplicating gesture.

"Do you expect me to kill my father?"

Numbly I shook my head.

"You leave her alone!" Chris exploded the

moment the door closed behind his goddess. "She

does try to do the best she can by us! Stop picking on

her! It's a wonder she comes to see us at all, what with

you riding her back, with your everlasting questions,

like you don't trust her. How do you know how much

she suffers? Do you believe she's happy knowing her

four children are locked in one room, and left to play

in an attic?"

It was hard to tell about someone like our mother,

just what she was thinking, and what she was feeling.

Her expression was always calm, unruffled, though

she often appeared tired. If her clothes were new, and

expensive, and we seldom saw her wear the same

thing twice, she brought us many new and expensive

clothes, too. Not that it mattered what we wore.


Tags: V.C. Andrews Dollanganger Horror