Tiffany looked pensive. Buford wasn’t a bad guy, she thought; he just had some odd ideas. She had placed an ad offering to work for food, and Buford had been the only person who had bothered to respond. She had been very hungry when she had first gone out to his farm to meet him, and he had offered to feed her in exchange for cleaning the chicken house. He had pointed out to the city girl that chicken droppings were quite nutritious and thus could be used for fertilizer; and when she had hesitated, he had pointed out to her that, if she couldn’t stomach the idea of taking them orally, there was always another way for her to take them, since they were already predigested and her stomach was not needed to digest them. She had opted for the second method: She really had been hungry. She wondered whether Buford had been serious when he had given her the choice, or whether he had just been taunting her. He hadn’t seemed surprised when she had accepted. Not that it mattered now.