207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. Another day of nonsuccess would mean many disagreeable things. She told him the story of her parents, her marriage to Iovelli, the loss of her baby, the kidnapping after the miscarriage. She had intended to be quietly dignified, but he was in a smouldering rage from the beginning, and began by assuming, which alone was more than flesh and blood could stand, that the insurrection was over and that she was coming home submissively. “How dare you!” she panted, with her world screaming and grimacing insult at her.
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