She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. “Oh, that. “There is something to be said for the lady-like theory after all,” she admitted. ” The men at the reporter’s table lifted their eyebrows, smiled faintly, and leaned back to watch how she took her scolding. By following her he had discovered her secret nook in the rocks. ’ She grimaced.
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