still with a guarded voice. She leaned far over, one hand buried in the ruff of Bart's neck to secure her balance, and with the other she laid hold of his right ear and drew him around facing the door once more. This time he showed his teeth but submitted, only twitching the ear back and forth a time or two when she relaxed her hold.
“Come in,” repeated Gregg.
She canted her head to one side and considered him with fearless blue eyes.
“I want to,” she sighed.
“Why can't you, honey?”
“Munner says no.”
He attempted to turn further towards her, but the pain in his right shoulder prevented. He found that his arm was bandaged to the elbow and held close to his side by a complex swathing.
“Who is your mother?” asked Vic.
“Munner?” she repeated, frowning in wonder.
“Why, munner is—my munner.”
“Oh,” smiled he, “and who's your pa?”
“What?”
“Who's your father? Who's your dad?”
“Daddy Dan. You ask a lot of things,” she added, disapprovingly.
“Come on in,” pleaded Vic Gregg, “and I won't ask nothin' more about you.”
“Munner says no,” she repeated.
She employed the moment of indecision by plucking
