the other side of the line. I'll never feel safe with you here in the States, though God knows I did what I could to keep you clear of everything. And I don't want to think there'd ever be a chance of your facing what I've got to face."
The terror of those long black years, stretching out endlessly, one after the other, and one as empty as the other, suddenly gripped my soul. But Bud made an impatient sign with his hand, for it was plain he hated to see me cry. Then he went on again.
"Baddie, you were born with brains, and you're going to have two or three years' living among the right sort of people."
"No, I'm not," I promptly told him. "I've tried it. And the right sort of people always seemed the wrong people with me."
"That's just what I've been trying to tell you. You're going to have your eyes opened. You're going to learn how wrong you've been looking at everything!"
For a moment I thought he'd roped me in for a reform school or one of those penal farms where you grow vegetables beside a man with a pump-gun. And my heart sank.
"It's all fixed up and settled," explained patient-eyed old Bud. "For I thought this out a long time
