The Foundling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Page 13

squashed-looking face seemed too wide for its head. Knife back in boot, he reached cautiously toward it. It squirmed, its too-wide face scrunching with the effort.

Whatever else it was, it was only a child. Leaving it there would be akin to murder. Stan picked it up – carefully. He didn’t know much about children, but he rather thought it would be some months before the child could even crawl. It struggled for a moment, but relaxed once they were inside again. Lorri looked over from her place at the window, grim determination written on her face.

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