She wondered abjectly whether he intended to rape her before she was dead. She held it by the neck and broke the end of the bottle on the hard dirt. That night she found a ship bound to sail for the heathen nation called America. His hands reached under her skirt. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets.
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