All sorts of battered tramps, junks and riff-raff of the seas trailed in and out. By the middle of July he was in full health. And here she was—in a mess because it had been impossible for her to avoid leaning upon another man. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. She found her foster father and Mike still awake, playing high stakes UNO at the dimly lit kitchen table. The Bitchster strikes again. “It is Rhea’s infant. Supposing he too wanted love and his arms were as empty as hers? Some living thing that depended upon her.
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