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Show Page 93 "Aye, London," Rose said. "It was right kind of you to bring me this here hare, Twig," she said. "You always was a good lad. Smart too." She tapped her head and sent Twig a look that to my bewildered eyes appeared to be a warning. "I must get back to my fire," I said hurriedly, sensing Twig's eagerness to be gone. "I'm making--soap--ashes--you know," I finished lamely. It was not until we were safely beside my fire again that the color came back into Twig's cheeks. "Did you know Rose well in London?" I asked him then. "She lived on the street, same as me. I saw her near every day." "On the street? You mean she had no home?" Twig shrugged. "If you saw her often,, you must have been good friends." "Never!" Twig fairly spat out the word. "Why she's a-she's a . . ." "A what?" Twig shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "If I told, Rose would have me head." He bent to scoop ashes into a basket And pry as I might, Twig said nothing more. ******************** |