“So little Maggy’s going to preach, is he?” he said lightly. “Let me recommend little Maggy to keep on his own side of the fence.”
Margaret shrugged his shoulders. It seemed to him to be the most offensive thing he could do, in the circumstances.
“Supposing that it’s not safe?”
Stukeley laughed, and returned to the locker. He pulled out a pipe and began to fill it.
“Maggy,” he said, “why don’t you get married?”
“My destiny.”
“Marriage goes by destiny. Eh?”
“Marriage. And hanging, Stukeley.”
That brought him from the locker again. “What the hell d’you mean by that?”
“Oh,” said Margaret. “It’s safe in Accomac, I should think.”