Sandy turned. She came down the path to the gate.
“Aren't you going to fix the peony bed?”
“Not,” said Sandy, “if you stay here by the gate.”
Gracia looked away from him quickly into the street.
“It's warm and quiet, isn't it? It's like—”
Zoar was not to her like anything else.
“Like an incubator,” said Sandy, gloomily, and Gracia looked up and laughed.
“Oh, I shouldn't have thought of that.”
“Kid Sadler would have said it, if he'd been here.”
“Would he?”