I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. I will not be sent away. Her senses were prickled when she felt a new pair of eyes upon her. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. But she no longer felt Jacomo’s age, even if she looked it. She saw his eyes glaze over. ‘Pray do not trouble yourself, Saling. That turned her mind to the more generalized aspects of her perplexities again.
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