"A friend," replied Jonathan, uncocking the pistol, and placing it in his pocket. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. Michelle walked towards the sloping Victorian stairs. “Do all foster kids have the instinct?” Michelle asked naively. How she needed him! Next moment, she had wrenched open the door, and was confronting her guard. Presently, however, a sudden movement occurred, and disclosed his features, which were those of a young man of nearly his own age. "There!" she cried, laughing, "that'll teach you to lay hands upon me again.
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