They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. His head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. She came very near that night to resolving that she would return to her home next morning. "Your gratitude will vanish with your danger. You can tell me the rest another time. “Now I should like to know,” she said, looking at him with a quiet smile, “what you are doing here? It is not a particularly inspiring neighbourhood for walking about by yourself.
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