Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. A sense of impending disaster was upon him. She kept her face downcast. Very well. ’ ‘Will you go back there?’ asked Gerald. It is what I have done. She crawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman who understood. Conscientious objectors to that process are not permitted, she found, in Canongate. She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis.
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