For
two or three weeks she walked as if she was protecting something being a
curved box with a seed in it, a life enclosing a life. Her face looked washed
in brine and scrubbed by the wind but something inside ripened it and she
lay a while on the steps in the sunlight, nearly a woman and a few vague
thoughts came and went in her head. "Men
are strong like dragons." "Women, though not weak, are in weak positions." "I
always bent like grass in front of the wind, what good did it do?" "I
still love him." Sometimes
Mandragon hurried past with a casual word and a keen bitter pleasure stabbed
her like a knife to think she would soon suffer his most dreadful insult; ut
suffering also the repose and weariness of fruition she spread her body on
the stone in the sun and prepared to vomit the debris of something human. Now
she had given birth to a death and the casket has collapsed inward on its vacancy.
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