” And he pointed to the door. The child backed away from him, pale with fear. Then she gathered up courage, seeing him become patient.

“We don't live with you,” she said, thrusting forward her little head at him. “You — you're — you're a bomakle.”

“A what?” he shouted.

Her voice wavered — but it came.

“A bomakle.”

“Ay, an' you're a comakle.”

She meditated. Then she hissed forwards her head.

“I'm not.”

“Not what?”

“A comakle.”