“You mean you do not dare tell me where you live?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean.”
“Why?”
“I don’t dast,” again came that quaint, childish negative.
“Who would do anything to you?”
“Nick.”
If Nora was eager to talk, surely Lucia was determined to be very brief. What could she mean by “Nick.”
Again Lucia held the bush back into an open gate. And again Nora tugged at the skirt.
“If I bring you a lovely sweet pie will you come back and talk to me here?” begged Nora.
“Where will you put the pie?”