Lights gleamed from the lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of revelry might be heard from within. The Iron Bar. ’ She released the pistol which lay in her lap and gestured expressively with her hands. Her foster parents had attended the concert in their finest clothes, Cathy in a new JC Penney dress, Larry in a suit that was too small. As they careened into a parking space, Lucy clung to the upholstery so as not to be thrown against the front seats. Why? What is she to you?” “I was there by accident,” Ennison answered. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently.
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