But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. That is why I have dyed my hair, that is why I have abandoned my rôle of ingenuèe and altered my whole style of dress. “Dear me!” he said. He thought her only an orphan in search of her English relatives. “So it seems that I was wrong. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear.
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