“The little boy,” he asked, “do you know if he’s all right?”

“The prowlers cut up his face but he’ll be all right,” she said. “I came back after his clothes.”

“Are you going to look after him?”

“Someone has to and”⁠—she shrugged her shoulders⁠—“I guess I was soft enough to elect myself for the job. Why⁠—was his mother a friend of yours?”

“She was my daughter,” he said.

“Oh.” For a moment the bold, brassy look was gone from her face, like a mask that had slipped. “I’m sorry. And I’ll take care of Billy.”