But think of the disillusionment! Except for our sex we have minds like men, desires like men. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. Michelle began to shadow her at school. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. She went down, feeling rather than seeing the way. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. It was for ever. It was the incendiary intellectuals of the bourgeoisie, with their militant ideas of revolution, who had raised the populace to a pitch of violence resulting in cases of wholesale slaughter—such as had overtaken the Valades. ‘You are too shrewd for me, ma’am. That poor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how.
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