Gianfrancesco had been talked into the arrangement only because the drivers that had handled the job for generations were sick or dead. The McCloskeys had picked Lucy from a bunch of children languishing at the Illinois Christian Home for Children. To a woman she might have confided; but to this man, kindly as he was, it was unthinkable. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. Selecting a key from the heavy bunch committed to him by Austin, he threw open the door, and beheld Blueskin seated at the back of the small chamber, handcuffed, and with his feet confined in a heavy pair of stocks. You’ll be telling me Gerald did not catch you snooping at the Bicknacres, I suppose.
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