She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. I could always 108 tell right away whether my new foster home was going to be good or bad. “But your hair,” he gasped. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. " There was a roaring in her ears like that of angry waters. She doesn't understand; she believes he has taken a sudden dislike to her.
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