“Come out o’ that, will you? Just you leave the moon alone.”
The voice came from the roped-in enclosure in the Square where They had been doing something to London during the day. They are always doing something to London, either taking it away or putting it back, scraping it, painting it, or tarring and feathering it. It was one of Gypsy’s fears that one day They would take it all up at once and put it back in the wrong places; and it was one of Ginger’s hopes that They would.
“Think how ripping it would be,” said Ginger, “if one morning you found the Temple Gardens in the Camden Road.”
“But think how horrible it would be,” urged Gypsy, “if one morning you found the Camden Road in the Temple Gardens.”
“Well, that’s the risk, you see. You couldn’t be sure.”
“Why does one sound all right and the other all wrong?” wondered Ginger.
She wondered about it often after this, and decided that the next time They took up the Camden Road They’d better lose it, and put apple-trees from Nowhere there instead.
But this is a digression.