She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. The odds were astounding and yet he had it bad. ’ ‘Even if they militiamen weren’t there, miss,’ cautioned her cavalier, ‘you couldn’t go marching into the house open like. During the wet monsoon the west beach was always littered. Oh, it was very bad. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. Here he was almost stunned by the deafening clamour resounding on all sides. There was a new softness in her eyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almost pathetic. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing.
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