Blackie let out a long sigh. He didn’t want to go dancing. He must find a way to apologize to Moira, but he would not seek her out. Anyway, it was more than likely he would run into her at Mrs. Wilson’s in the next week or so.

His mind settled on the Bank, a place that had horrified him. He had never seen anything like it in his life. He couldn’t help wondering why such a foul slum was allowed to exist. Why didn’t the Town Council do something about it, tear it down? What dreadful lives people must have there. It had been an eye-opener for him, and once again shown him that the world was an ugly place—hard and dangerous.

His thoughts ran on, and he suddenly thought of Gwen, who had disappeared in the blink of an eye. Was he correct when he thought someone had grabbed her? He wasn’t quite sure, and yet what other explanation was there?

She had not come home, and the local police had not found her body in any of the local parks. A mystery, that indeed it was. It had really affected Alf, who was troubled and sad these days.

A cold chill trickled through Blackie at the mere idea that she could have been murdered or abducted. Not here. Not in Upper Armley. Uncle Patrick considered it one of the safest places in the entire world. But was any place really safe? He shuddered at the thought of danger hiding behind every corner.

Pushing aside these dire meanderings, his thoughts turned to Angela. What a lovely woman she was, and so kind and generous. He had promised to go and see her in Harrogate next weekend, and he surely would. She made him feel happy, an emotion he was not particularly familiar with. He was content, and grateful to his uncle Pat, and liked his life in Upper Armley, but this was something new.

His own life had been difficult in many ways, and he had taken on responsibility very young. And oh, the sorrow and the grief he had borne when his family began to die around him.

His eyes were suddenly moist, filled with tears, as he thought of his father and mother, Niall, his brother, and Bronagh. One after the other, they had passed away. Life had dealt them the hard blow of poverty, hunger and despair. They were taken by the rough land they lived in. Ireland, where death was rampant.

Blackie pushed his face into the soft pillow, the only pillow he had ever had, and wept. He had not cried for a long time, and in a sense it was a great relief to him to shed his tears of a grief so intolerable it was almost impossible to bear.

A gentle tapping on the door awakened Blackie, who had fallen asleep. He sat up with a start, jumped off the bed and opened the door.