The McCloskeys had picked Lucy from a bunch of children languishing at the Illinois Christian Home for Children. The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze. There was no response. He got off at Canal, and she exited behind the crowd. At the back of her mind, Melusine noted an odd look in the boy’s face, but there was no time to explore it. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. I can no longer bear to address you by that formal madame.
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