“Bloodroot,” said Hale, and he scratched the stem and forth issued scarlet drops. “The Indians used to put it on their faces and tomahawks”—she knew that word and nodded—“and I used to make red ink of it when I was a little boy.”
“No!” said June. With the next look she found a tiny bunch of fuzzy hepaticas.
“Liver-leaf.”
“Whut's liver?”
Hale, looking at her glowing face and eyes and her perfect little body, imagined that she would never know unless told that she had one, and so he waved one hand vaguely at his chest:
“It's an organ—and that herb is supposed to be good for it.”
“Organ? Whut's that?”
“Oh, something inside of you.”
June made the same gesture that Hale had.
“Me?”