Presently she resumed her loading of the gig, nor did she speak again till she had dealt with all the sheets that Brent had pushed down to her.
“Twenty,” she said, “we have a load.”
Brent slid down the roof, landed, and put himself between the shafts of the gig. Manon took her place behind it, and they started out of the field.
“Paul,” said her voice, just when they were on the edge of the pavé.
“Hallo.”
“I am not afraid of Bibi.”
The rattle of the wheels and the clanging of the iron sheets made it difficult for Brent to hear her.
“What did you say?”
“I am not afraid of Bibi.”
He threw his weight against the shafts and stopped the gig.