The stranger outside the gate obediently repeated, "Are you truly lame?"
"Yes. Why?"
"'Cause Ma says she guesses this must be a lame house," piped up another voice close by, and Peace discovered a second dirty-faced, red-headed youngster peering between the slats.
"A lame house?" echoed Peace in bewilderment. "How can a house be lame?"
"Aw, Antonio don't mean the house, nor neither does Ma. They just mean that every one what lives in it is lame."
"I don't see how you make that out," Peace began, still puzzled.
"Well, you're lame, ain't you?"
"Yes."
"And that little baby is lame."
"Y—e—s."