“Saints, don’t shout so, they are as thick here as flies on a dead horse! Ssst, listen to that!”
She dragged Denise close to the hedge, for they heard men stumbling and calling in the darkness.
“Hallo there, hallo!”
“Come here, you squeakers, and keep us company.”
“Find ’em, good dog, find ’em.”
Marpasse laid a hand over Denise’s mouth, and they crouched there while the men beat the hedge and shouted like boys bird hunting with clap nets at night. They were on the wrong side of the hedge, however, and soon grew tired of the game. The women heard them move off into the darkness.
Marpasse took her hand from Denise’s mouth.
“There, you grey pigeon, the night hawks would have had you!”
“Help me, Marpasse. My God, I cannot stay here.”
She was still in a fever for flight, but more reasonable towards Marpasse. The woman sat down under the hedge, and pulling Denise after her, held her in her arms.