Hang the wench! Roding was right. “Sufficient unto me is the change thereof,” he said, with all the effect of an epigram. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. I made a wrong choice, it seems—but my voice remains. There were white men with families, a fine mission-house, and a club-house for cards and billiards. Occasionally she would be missing a sock or a bra, so she took to storing those things in her gym locker. "See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently. Expiation. There were moments when she doubted whether the whole mass of movements and societies and gatherings and talks was not simply one coherent spectacle of failure protecting itself from abjection by the glamour of its own assertions. Now I require it, only that I may stop this pig from ruining all. She allowed herself to be ejected, therefore, and retired to the parlour after cleansing the blood from her hands and her own slight wound in the kitchen. "But, perhaps, he has not got beyond the room above. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. ‘What is it that you told him?’ ‘Nothing, miss, I swear. ’ Gerald grinned.
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