The McCloskeys had picked Lucy from a bunch of children languishing at the Illinois Christian Home for Children. He hadn't played fair. Beneath the hood it was evident that her rebellious hair was bound up with red silk, and fastened by some device in her ears (unless she had them pierced, which was too dreadful a thing to suppose!) were long brass filigree earrings. What had actually beaten him was not to have known if someone had picked up his trail. The one problem was that it didn’t fly. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. In this attempt he was, however, foiled by the agility of the carpenter, who managed to retreat to the door, against which he placed his back, kicking the boards vigorously with his heel. It seemed to emanate from the back of the house. ‘Well, water under the bridge is that, miss.
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