"I know what you would say.
Save it! You can't do anything that way. Mickey is right. She _is_ his. He
found her in her last extremity, in rags, on the floor in a dark corner of
an attic. He carried her home in that condition, to a clean bed his mother
left him. Since, he has been her gallant little knight, lying on the floor
on his winter bedding, feeding her first and most, not a thought for
himself. God, Leslie! I don't stand for anything coming between Mickey and
his child, his 'family' he calls her. He's the biggest small specimen I
ever have seen. I'll fight his cause in any court in the country, if his
right to her is questioned, as it will be the minute she is taken to a
surgeon or a hospital."
"How old is she?" asked Leslie.
"Neither of them knows. About ten, I should think."
"How has he managed to keep her hidden this long?"
"He lives in an attic. The first woman he tried to get help from started
the Home question, and frightened him; so he appealed to a nurse he met
through being connected with an accident; she gave him supplies,
instructions and made Lily gowns.
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