Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. ” She looked up at him quickly. . “No,” she said, under her breath, “you can’t face it. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. She was clear there were no other minds like them in all the world. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. E. Her head had been shaved, and around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws were stuck.
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