The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. That was odd: when young people were joyous, they had to express it physically. Lucy collapsed to the floor in a sob. The McCloskeys had picked Lucy from a bunch of children languishing at the Illinois Christian Home for Children. “Your name and address in his pocket was no delusion,” he said sharply. " "Make good your assertions," cried Trenchard, furiously, "or——" "To the proof," interrupted the stranger, calmly. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again.
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