Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. ” She shook her head, snapping out of her reverie. Absolutely. The moon had arisen, and everything could be as plainly distinguished as during the day. “John, you were never bound to me, you don’t owe me anything. This foster child’s name was Mary Lucia Iovelli, and we have photographic documents of a woman who looks exactly like you, dear. You only live a block away!” 236 “I’ll do my best. We were to ransom you, then we would fake your death, play as if the kidnappers had executed you. Your own safety—the child's safety—depends upon your candour. ” She swept out of the room.
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