“That what?”
“I don’t know.”
They laughed together.
“It’s got a bad reputation,” said Smythe.
“Perhaps that’s the reason.”
Then she was embarrassed, thinking unexpectedly of another bad reputation in the Park.
“Perhaps,” he answered, smiling at the back of her head, where the tawny hair curved up adorably from the soft, white neck.
“Tell me about it!” she said at length.
“It’s a death trap.”