She laughs, moving out of the way of the entry, toward an empty bench. It's a moment in which she can see clearly just how little she's told him--which is kind of satisfying to look upon. He hasn't ferreted out her whole life; she can tell it to him, or not, as she prefers. "No, I lived there."

Thinking of it in any detail doesn't exactly inspire laughter these days, of course. It's in ruins now, as surely as the farm is. She adds, more soberly, "The world ended. Nobody needs a prison when the world ends--except people who want a safe home."