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“Good morning, Mrs. Sloan,” the girl said by rote. “How are you this morning? I feel fine.” The little girl beamed at her accomplishment while...Barb smiled down on her. The girl’s platinum-blonde hair was neatly arranged in two pigtails and she was beautiful, except she was very pale.“What’s your name?” Barbara asked. The little girl just looked up at her, puzzled. Clearly, Barb’s question had not been on the short English phrase list the child had memorized. “What’s your name?” she repeated,. Maybe it was the way Steve was looking at me, or perhaps the way Krystle placed her hand on my knee, squeezing it to punctuate what she was saying. I was just about to put my hand on hers when a maid entered the room. "Dinner is served, ma'am," she said. She wore a formal maids' uniform, not the skimpy, frothy French kind, like the servants who attended Bradley and Helen's swing parties wore, rather a long, charcoal grey dress that came down above the knees, with a starched white apron tied. More

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