When she awoke, she felt sick, her mouth still salty with blood. There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts. About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood the outer pickets and detachments of the police, their attention all directed westward to where the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed like an angry hive. The sidewalk resonated with the pounding of cold rain by the time she left the building. 8. To my loving parents and brothers, and my Aunts, Gail and Barb.
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