She stopped short and turned round, her lips apart "Martin! What makes you ask that?"
"Because every single time you've mentioned it you hesitate before you say 'death.' Besides, for some reason yesterday you started to be passionately interested all of a sudden, and wanted to learn all about it Why, Jenny?"
Instead of lessening as they walked, the mist was becoming thicker. Already, some distance back, a hedgerow had loomed unexpectedly in their faces; they groped for the stile. Now a fence emerged with almost equal materialization from the white twilight They reached the fence, and Jenny put a hand on it
"Martin. Did you ever wonder why I didn't offer to go with you on the ghost-hunting expedition?"
Martin felt uncomfortable. "Well! I thought you were…"
"Jealous? Yes, that was true. Afraid of ghosts? Also true, a little." Her lips and eyebrows apologized gently. "But I told you there was another reason. Martin, I want you to know everything about me. I do, I do! But I can't tell you now because if I'm wrong it's not merely being mistaken; it's — if s sordidly stupid."
"Jenny, I don't care. I'm not a detective."
She shook her hair violently, and settled the coat over her brown sweater as though more conscious of mist-clamminess.
It all comes back to that utterly meaningless skeleton," she said. "And now Grandmother's got it locked up somewhere."
"For innocent reasons, of course.’' He tried hard to make this a plain statement, without any inflection of question.