‘It is nothing at all of the kind. ” Michelle replied, still haunted by the image of her friend brutally amputating a man’s finger. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. ” She rolled over on her face, and stuffed her fingers in her ears to shut out the rhythm from her mind. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. Day by day she followed the spiritual and physical contest between this man and woman. ” She had no way of retaliating, so she made a decision. "Amazement!" cried Wild. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image. ’ ‘Prudence,’ repeated Gerald unguardedly. “I shot him.
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