She went to market every day to fetch the daily bread and more herbs for more medicines and potions, plus treats for the apprentices made of honey and almond paste. ‘You see, it is that I have a plan to marry an Englishman. A fever of shame ran through her being. They clapped wildly afterward. ‘Of course she don’t understand,’ snapped Charvill irascibly. There were moments when she doubted whether the whole mass of movements and societies and gatherings and talks was not simply one coherent spectacle of failure protecting itself from abjection by the glamour of its own assertions. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt. It was enough.
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