" At the mention of the latter occurrence, a dark cloud gathered upon the stranger's brow. “These are the playgrounds of life. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. This done, he let himself carefully down by it, and having only a few feet to drop, alighted in safety. “Oh, I am lonely,” she moaned. It was easy to discover that he was a knave, but equally easy to perceive that he was a pleasant fellow; a combination of qualities by no means of rare occurrence. As he looked around, he beheld an incessant stream of passengers hurrying on below. “Do all foster kids have the instinct?” Michelle asked naively. But then you're an adopted son, and that makes all the difference. From the first I could see that neither believed my story.
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