You were dying and your baby along with you. She took some shirts, underwear, shoes, a duffel bag, and his wallet to make it look like he had gone a-traveling. Spurling. ‘Of course she don’t understand,’ snapped Charvill irascibly. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. The militia offered little in the way of relief. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. ‘Ha!’ uttered Captain Roding triumphantly. The service began. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. The echoes of his hard, unpleasant laugh reached Anna on her way upstairs. It got on my nerves—the women I saw. If only we are not divided.
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