Then Anna spoke more seriously than usual. She knew it. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. “I’m not the Devil. True, on board the ships she had watched young men from afar, but only with that normal curiosity which is aroused in the presence of any new species. I’d rather starve!” For a moment the conversation hung upon that declaration. The man looked closely at Anna as she crossed the footway, and as he held her skirt from the wheel he pressed something into her hand. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. Her anger died and she eyed him. " "Come along, master," said the waterman. She dared not say the word aloud, not even to herself.
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