"You may tell me. What Procedures do you use?"
The girl's perplexity at the new word looked real.
"I don't know anything about that, mum. I don't do much. Just spells. Like now my boy friend's gone in the army, I do things to keep him from getting shot or hurt, and I've spelled him so that he'll keep away from other women. Honest, I don't do much, mum. And it don't always work. And lots of things I can't get that way." Her words had begun to run away with her.
"Very well. Where did you learn to do this?"
"Some I learned from ma when I was a kid. And some from Mrs. Neidel—she gets spells against bullets from her grandmother who had a family in some European war before the last one. But most women won't tell you anything. And some spells I kind of figure out myself, and try different ways until they work. You won't tell on me, mum?"
"No. Look at me now. What has happened to me?"
"Honest, mum, I don't know. Please, mum, don't make me say it." The girl's terror and reluctance were so obviously genuine that Norman felt a surge of anger at Tansy. Then he remembered that the thing beyond the door was incapable of either cruelty or kindness.
"I want you to tell me."
"I don't know how to say it, mum. But you're ... you're dead." Suddenly she threw herself at Tansy's feet. "Oh, please, please don't take mine! Please!"
"I would not take your soul. You would get much the best of that bargain. You may go away now."