Back in the bed she stared up into the dark, while the tears streamed from her eyes and ran into the hair at her temples. She did not sleep that night, and the next morning when she crawled out of bed she found that there were a few spots of blood on the under sheet. But it was Monday, and Monday was wash day, and by the afternoon the bedlinen had been washed and, along with the rest of the washing, was hanging out on the clothesline to dry. She was glad of the round of chores that awaited her for she desperately needed to be occupied, though never for one moment while she worked did her thoughts stray from the happening of the night before. First thing that morning she had prepared Mr Haskin’s breakfast and served it as he sat, ready for his day’s work, at the kitchen table. Throughout, she kept her eyes lowered, and spoke no single word. For his part he gave no word to her either, other than muttering the briefest thank you, and the moment his plate was empty he was gone, riding off on the cob.
