“The rarefied air? I thought you had a better head. It will be a little lonely sometimes,” she said, looking around at them, “and I shall miss you all, but it is the fairest for myself —and I think for you. ’ Roding started. You call it a lot of nicknames—“Babs” and “Bibs” and “Viddles” and “Vee”; you whack at it playfully, and it whacks you back. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked.
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