Usually it was fish sticks and reheated noodles. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. But tell me how have you escaped from the confinement in which you were placed—come and sit by me—here—upon the bed—give me your hand—and tell me all about it. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. They were on their way back home, or so she had thought. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground.
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