The larger problem at hand was drugging her foster sister, Shari, into a deep sleep. All these interesting objects were carefully arranged, classed, and, as we have said, labelled by the thief-taker. Lucy found solace in the lack of sunshine, but the November cold was over the top, even for Illinois. “I wrote it for you. Ants. ’ As a matter of fact, I am not. "Put it under my pillow," he said. “I said you were”—he shouted—“NOT TO GO!” She made, and overdid, an immense effort to be a princess. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. The McCloskeys had picked Lucy from a bunch of children languishing at the Illinois Christian Home for Children.
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