She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. ‘Eh bien, pig. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. 181 < 22 > MICHELLE’S STORY The week at school was mostly uneventful save Michelle’s enthusiasm and constant ploys for attention. Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor.
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