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you?”
    “Yes, I’d like to see Mrs. Van Orner.”
    Sarah saw the slightest flicker of emotion passing over his young face, but she couldn’t identify it. He hesitated another second as he examined her more closely, his gaze darting over her as if to form some sort of judgment. She couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or not, but he said, “Mrs. Van Orner isn’t in today, but you may speak with her secretary, Miss Yingling.” He directed her to an office on the third floor.
    As she made her way up, Sarah passed several young women and another young man on the stairs. They all carried papers or folders and seemed bent on a mission of some importance. They did not greet her or even meet her eye, Sarah noticed. Such behavior was typical in the city, but somehow she’d expected the people here to be friendlier.
    She found the office easily, but the words painted on the door stopped her: “Rahab’s Daughters.” Sarah had learned the story of Rahab the Harlot in Sunday school, although she hadn’t known exactly what a harlot was back then. Rahab had hidden the Israelite spies whom Joshua had sent to Jericho. In exchange for protecting them from her own people, she asked them to spare her and her family when they took the city. Rahab had done well for herself afterward, Sarah recalled, although she couldn’t remember the details.
    She supposed the name was appropriate, considering the work Mrs. Van Orner did, but Sarah couldn’t help thinking that “Daughters of Hope” was a bit more inspiring. She opened the door. A young woman looked up from her typewriter.
    Like the fellow in the lobby and the people on the stairs, she was young, probably in her early twenties. Sarah could tell that she could be a beauty if she took some pains with her hair and her clothing, but apparently, she cared nothing for that. She wore her dark hair scraped back into a severe and unflattering bun, and her suit was ill-fitting and a sickly shade of olive green that turned her skin sallow. “May I help you?”
    “Yes, I need to see Mrs. Van Orner.”
    “Mrs. Van Orner isn’t in today, but I will be happy to give her a message.”
    “I’m afraid this is a rather urgent matter.”
    The girl smiled slightly, or at least her lips curved upward. Nothing else of her expression changed though. “It’s always an urgent matter.”
    “A young woman’s life is at stake,” Sarah tried.
    “Then perhaps you will tell me what you need so I can give that information to Mrs. Van Orner.”
    Sarah could see that she had no choice. “All right.”
    “Please, sit down,” Miss Yingling said, indicating the wooden chair placed beside her desk.
    Sarah did so.
    The girl had taken a piece of paper and a pencil out of her desk, and she looked up expectantly. “What is your name?”
    Sarah told her. The girl then asked for her address.
    “Is all this really necessary?” Sarah asked impatiently.
    Miss Yingling looked up, her eyes calm, completely unaffected by Sarah’s urgency.
    “I’m afraid it’s very necessary. All of the charities in this building cooperate with each other very closely. We keep careful records of everyone we help and share that information with each other, so that people can’t just go from one charity to another every time they get into difficulty. That would encourage them to be dependent and weak instead of forcing them to take responsibility for their own lives.”
    This seemed so unfair, Sarah hardly knew where to begin asking questions. “You mean people can’t get assistance from more than one of the charities in this building?”
    “With some rare exceptions, yes. As I said, our resources are limited, and we can’t waste them on people who are too lazy to improve themselves. Not everyone agrees with these rules, of course,” she added, “but we must abide by them nevertheless. So yes, I do need this information. What is your address?”
    Still stinging with outrage, Sarah provided it.
    Miss Yingling took down the