It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. She had always loved babies, like you! We ran away to the Barbars, back then, the land of the barbarian North. ‘That there governess didn’t like it, of course, me being the lodgekeeper’s girl, and Martha just a country wench like me. The turnkey looked round the next moment, but the manoeuvre escaped his observation. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness. “Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said.
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