couldna feed me, that I’d have to do it.”
“How old are you?”
“Eight.”
He was small enough to look five. He snuffled. Sally looked at her rescuer and said, “Do you have a handkerchief, sir?”
The thick blond brows rose, but the man reached into the pocket of his greatcoat and produced the article requested.
“Here,” Sally said, handing over the pristine handkerchief. “Blow your nose, Jem, and wipe your face.”
The two adults stood in silence and watched as the boy did as he was requested. When he was finished he attempted to hand the handkerchief back to its owner, who shook his head sharply and said, “No, no, you keep it, boy.”
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