mysterious lane, that I had seen half-naked women and soldiers
there, and that one of the women had beckoned me in and given
me some cake

"Why, you mustn't do that, Davie!" she said, aghast. "Don't you
ever go near that street again! Do you hear?"

"Why?"

"Because it is a bad street."

"Why is it bad?"

"Keep still and don't ask foolish questions."

I obeyed, with the result that the foolish questions kept rankling in
my brain

On a subsequent occasion, when she was combing my dark hair
fondly, I ventured once more: "Mamma, why mustn't I come near
that street?"

"Because it is a sin to do so, my comfort. Fie upon it!"

This answer settled it. One did not ask why it was a sin to do this
or not to do that. "You don't demand explanations of the Master of
the World," as people were continually saying around me. My
curiosity was silenced. That street became repellent to me,
something hideously wicked and sinister