You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated. Her hormones were raging stupidly. Look at the cock’s feathers, look at the competition there is everywhere, except among humans. Prison was bleak without spaciousness, and pervaded by a faint, oppressive smell; and she had to wait two hours in the sullenly defiant company of two unclean women thieves before a cell could be assigned to her.
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