It can't be, he whispered, you must be lying. She followed him. Don't

you remember how you said goodbye to me before you went to war? Don't

you remember that night in the wagon? Don't you remember, don't you?

Don't you? She was talking quietly now, using her words to wound him.

That was months ago. It can't be true, Sean stammered, still moving

away from her. Three and a half months, she told him. Your brother's

baby will be a little early, don't you think? But lots of people have

premature babies - Her voice droned on steadily, she was shivering

uncontrollably now and her face was ghostly pale. Sean could stand it

no longer. Leave me, leave me alone. I've got to think. I didn't

know. He brushed past her and went out into the passage.

She heard the door of Waite's study slam shut and she stood still in the

centre of the floor. Gradually her panting came under control and the

storm surf of her anger abated to expose the black reefs of hatred

beneath. She crossed the floor, went down the passage and into her own

bedroom. She stood in front of the mirror and looked at herself.

I hate him, her lips formed the words in the nodffor.

Her face was still pale. There's one thing I can take from him. Garry's

mine now, not his. She pulled the pins from her hair and let them drop

onto the floor; her hair fell down her back. She shook it onto her

shoulders then lifted her hands and tangled it into confusion. Her

teeth closed on her own lips, she bit until she tasted blood. Oh, God,

I hate him, I hate him, she whispered through the pain. Her hands came

down onto the front of her dress. She tore it open, then in the mirror

looked without interest at the round bosses of her nipples that were

already darkening with the promise of fruition. She kicked off her

shoes.

I hate him. She stooped and her hands went up under her skirts into the

petticoats. She loosened her pantaloons and stepped out of them; she

held them across her chest to tear them, then threw them next to the

bed. She swept her arm across the top of her dressing-table: one of the

bowls hit the floor and burst with a splash of face-powder and there was

the sudden pungent reek of spilled perfume.

She crossed to the bed and dropped onto it. She lifted her knees and

her petticoats fell back like the petals of a flower: her white legs and

lower body were the stamen.

just before nightfall there was a shy knock an her door.

What is it? she asked. The Nkosikazi has not told me what I should

cook for dinner, Old Joseph's voice was raised respectfully. There will

be no dinner tonight. You and all the servants may go. Very well,

Nkosikazi Garrick came home in the dark. He had been drinking; she

heard him stagger as he crossed the stoep, and his voice slur as he

called. Hallo. Where's everybody? Anna! Anna! I'm back Silence for

a while as he lit one of the lamps and then the hurried thump, thump of

his peg along the passage and his voice again edged with alarm. Anna,

Anna, where are you?

He Pushed the door open and stood with the lamp in his hand. Anna

rolled away from the light, pressing her face into the pillow and

hunching her shoulders. She heard him set the lamp down on the

dressing-table, felt his hands pulling down her skirts to cover Her

nakedness, then gently turn her to face him. She looked into his face

andsaw the uncomprehending horror in it. MY darling Oh Anna, my

darling, what's happened? He stared at her broken lips and her breasts.

Bewildered he turned his head and looked at the bottles on the floor, at

her torn pantaloons. His face hardened and came back to her.

Are you hurt? She shook her head. Who? Tell me who did it She turned

away from him again, hiding her face.

My darling my poor darling. Who was it, one of the servants? No, her