"What has come to you?" I asked in awe. "What are you terrifying
yourself with?"

She pulled herself together, her eyes open frightfully wide now.
The tropical afternoon was lengthening the shadows on the hot,
weary earth, the abode of obscure desires, of extravagant hopes, of
unimaginable terrors.

"Never mind! Don't care!" Then, after a gasp, she spoke with such
frightful rapidity that I could hardly make out the amazing words:
"For if you were to shut me up in an empty place as smooth all
round as the palm of my hand, I could always strangle myself with
my hair."

For a moment, doubting my ears, I let this inconceivable
declaration sink into me. It is ever impossible to guess at the
wild thoughts that pass through the heads of our fellow-creatures.
What monstrous imaginings of violence could have dwelt under the
low forehead of that girl who had been taught to regard her father
as "capable of anything" more in the light of a misfortune than
that of a disgrace; as, evidently, something to be resented and
feared rather than to be ashamed of? She seemed, indeed, as
unaware of shame as of anything else in the world; but in her
ignorance, her resentment and fear took a childish and violent
shape.

Of course she spoke without knowing the value of words. What could
she know of death--she who knew nothing of life? It was merely as
the proof of her being beside herself with some odious