“Can Lucy and I go out for a walk?” Michelle interrupted the violin conversation petulantly. And, with a glance of malignant exultation, he quitted the vault, and locked the door. The McCloskeys had picked Lucy from a bunch of children languishing at the Illinois Christian Home for Children. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. ‘Civilian peace-keeping forces, you know.
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