Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. Down there, whisky raises the very devil with white men. Even then she had understood vaguely that she had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was never lonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds. “Marriage and mothering,” said Ann Veronica, with her mind crystallizing out again as the lark dropped to the nest in the turf. The infant’s body, now missing its pulverized head, was still twitching among the blood-soaked ruins of corpses. You know you don’t mean it.
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