"No," she said.
"Perhaps not."
The sunshine had gone, and over the moor the light was grey; grey clouds hung low in the sky, and as he looked down at her, it seemed to Zebedee that Helen was some emanation of grey earth and air.
"We'll take him out," she said.
"And then what shall we do with him?"
"I believe he'd be quite happy in the kitchen!"
"Yes, he's a domesticated old boy."
"We can't put him in the hen-house. Just tie him to the post and let him eat."
When that was done, she would have gone into the house, but Zebedee kept her back.
"Mayn't we stay in the garden? Are you warm enough?"