Keep his arms down. ’ ‘Get rid of the wench,’ Roding said brutally. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. It has all been a mistake. They didn’t talk about it much, but Mike had been through some eerily similar foster homes in Florida, the where he was born. He had looked at it before without comprehension. Inside was Anna, leaning a little forward to watch the passers-by, bright-eyed, full to the brim of the insatiable curiosity of youth—the desire to understand and appreciate this new world in which she found herself. Blackness was beginning to consume the cornfield.
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