Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. “This place is very beautiful. ’ ‘Can’t say as I’m sorry to hear you say that, missie,’ confessed the sergeant, on a relieved note, as he locked the front door of the mansion and pocketed the key. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. ” “Very sad—very sad indeed,” he remarked uneasily. Why should he stare at her in this fashion?—for all the world as if she had pointed a pistol at his head? CHAPTER III He had said it, spoken it like that … his own name! After all these weeks of trying to obliterate even the memory of it!… to have given it to this girl without her asking! The thought of peril cleared a space in the alcoholic fog. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened.
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