The boy still stood on the porch, looking even more unhappy than he had before. She held out the paper, and he snatched it from her fingers. In that instant, their eyes met, and Sarah saw him for the child that he was. He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, and she wondered what evil things he had been forced to do to stay alive this long. Her heart ached with a longing she refused to identify.

“If you ever need help…” she began, ignoring all common sense. But her effort was wasted. The boy was gone, running down the street as fast as his skinny legs could carry him, off to find Nelson Ellsworth and earn his nickel.

Sarah sighed. It was just as well. What had she been thinking to invite a child like that to visit her? She smiled at the thought of what her friend Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy would have to say about her sentimental feelings for a street urchin. He would be horrified and wouldn’t hesitate to let her know it. When she might have an opportunity to share those feelings, however, she couldn’t imagine. She hadn’t seen Malloy for several weeks, not since he’d taken his son Brian home from the hospital.

Brian had been born with a club foot, but a surgeon Sarah knew had operated on him to correct it. The cast might even be off by now. Sarah decided she might actually be brazen enough to pay the child a visit, just to see how he was doing. She’d have to be careful not to go when Malloy might be home, of course. She wouldn’t want him or Malloy’s mother to think she was using his child as an excuse to see him. Especially Malloy’s mother, who hated the sight of her. Besides, she knew if she visited Brian, Malloy would feel obligated to come by and thank her later.

Washington Square was quiet that evening as Sarah made her way through the Greenwich Village streets toward it. The nurses with their baby buggies were gone, the old men playing chess and checkers and the respectable ladies taking the air had all retired to their homes for supper.