Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. She located her foster family. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. Entering the workshop, he found the blacksmith occupied in heating the tire of a cart wheel. There'll be busy days and idle. She doubted if Manning would even listen to that.
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