She crawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman who understood. One always dreamed of this and never believed it. She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally. . He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. But he had shown no desire for information, no curiosity. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. She did her best to do this.
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