An old woman took her in. You never can tell. Beside me on Anna’s table was a pistol. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. ’ The listening soldiers began to snigger behind their hands. Marthe has told me that the house comes to my mother, Ma—ry Re—men—ham. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls.
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