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           TheKingofEnglandwasnobetterthanhe,andtheKingofEnglandwouldadmirehimifheknewhim.Hecouldlookwithpityandcontemptondoctors,lawyers,pen-pushers,cockies.Tocutsugarthemoney-hungrywhiteman’sway—thatwasthegreatestachievement.

           Hewouldsitontheedgeofhiscotfeelingtheribbed,cordedmusclesofhisarmswell,lookatthehorny,scarredpalmsofhishands,thetannedlengthofhisbeautifullystructuredlegs,andsmile.Amanwhocoulddothisandnotonlysurvivebutlikeitwasaman.HewonderediftheKingofEnglandcouldsayasmuch.

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           ItwasfourweeksbeforeMeggiesawLuke.EachSundayshepowderedherstickynose,putonaprettysilkdress—thoughshegaveupthepurgatoryofslipsandstockings—andwaitedforherhusband,whonevercame.AnneandLuddieMuellersaidnothing,justwatchedheranimationfadeaseachSundaydarkeneddramatically,likeacurtainfallingonabrilliantlylit,emptystage.Itwasn’tthatshewantedhim,precisely;itwasjustthathewashers,orshewashis,orhoweverbestitmightbedescribed.Toimaginethathedidn’teventhinkofherwhileshepassedherdaysandweekswaitingwithhiminherthoughtsallthetime,toimaginethatwastobefilledwithrage,frustration,bitterness,humiliation,sorrow.MuchasshehadloathedthosetwonightsattheDunnypub,atleastthenshehadcomefirstwithhim;nowshefoundherselfactuallywishingshehadbittenoffhertonguesoonerthancriedoutinpain.Thatwasit,ofcourse.