Bod looked up. There was someone on the other side of the gravestone, watching him.
Boy? What're you doing?
I know my name. And I know what I'm doing here. But I don't know the other thing you said.
I don't know
You don't know your name? 'Course you do. Everybody knows their own name. Fibber.
How old are you? What are you doing here? Do you live here? What's your name?
Her name was Scarlett Perkins, she told him and she lived in a flat with no garden. Her mother was sitting on a bench at the bottom of the hill, reading a magazine. She told Scarlett to be back in half an hour and not to geti n to any trouble or talk to strangers.
You're not, you're a little boy. And you're my friend. So you can't be a stranger.