She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. At second hand it would be unendurable. It was 1582. She had had to do away with many a leering foster father since she had started frequenting foster homes in the middle of the century. She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands. ‘She?’ ‘Damnation!’ He saw her frown, and added at once, ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. “Okay.
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