With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. In the midst of this light stood a young woman. They chatted pleasantly as he drove around the neighborhood for a half an hour, then stopped by the Diedermayer house. She was gone. With great difficulty, Wood forced a path through the ruins. “You are late,” she murmured. It was rigged up for the occasion as it has been many a time before. This foster child’s name was Mary Lucia Iovelli, and we have photographic documents of a woman who looks exactly like you, dear.
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