Chapter Seven ‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald. One of the shutters was a trifle damaged, letting in added light. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. The man lingered. “Do something!” But he laid by his prey, half-watching the fight, gorging on the woman he had caught that had been meant for Rhea and her child. You heard her. All the village was assembled in the churchyard. The man looked hard at him. The audience clapped more heartily.
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