He cupped her small hands in the bowl of his large ones and reassured her in the kindest manner, saying, “You will have the finest life that Florence has to offer. Wood's charms equalled your description. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. Until the last moment she was afraid. His grip twisted her wrist. He pumped as she raised her legs obediently. My boys buy them with beads or bolts of calico of mine. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell. WE don’t think they’re right, but they don’t think we are.
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