“What’s that young lady’s name—girl in dark brown, stranger here?” Mr. Nice goings on. She crawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman who understood. Could she go through with it? She must. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow. Sebastian had fetched tallow, which she angrily ordered him not to use, as she suspected its origin was not animal but human. Like a nightmare memory that returned again and again to haunt her.
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