The Rape of the Fleece
When slowly from the torpor of ether, one wakens to the misty sense of eternal loss, and there comes the exquisite prick of pain, then one feels in part the horror of the ache when Zora wakened to the world again. The awakening was the work of days and weeks. At first in sheer exhaustion, physical and mental, she lay and moaned. The sense of loss‚ÅÝ‚Äîof utter loss‚ÅÝ‚Äîlay heavy upon her. Something of herself, something dearer than self, was gone from her forever, and an infinite loneliness and silence, as of endless years, settled on her soul. She wished neither food nor words, only to be alone. Then gradually the pain of injury stung her when the blood flowed fuller. As Miss Smith knelt beside her one night to make her simple prayer Zora sat suddenly upright, white-swathed, dishevelled, with fury in her midnight eyes.
‚ÄúI want no prayers!‚Äù she cried, ‚ÄúI will not pray! He is no God of mine. He isn‚Äôt fair. He knows and won‚Äôt tell. He takes advantage of us‚ÅÝ‚ÄîHe works and fools us.‚Äù All night Miss Smith heard mutterings of this bitterness, and the next day the girl walked her room like a tigress‚ÅÝ‚Äîto and fro, to and fro, all the long day. Toward night a dumb despair settled upon her. Miss Smith found her sitting by the window gazing blankly toward the swamp. She came to Miss Smith, slowly, and put her hands upon her shoulders with almost a caress.
‚ÄúYou must forgive me,‚Äù she pleaded plaintively. ‚ÄúI reckon I‚Äôve been mighty bad with you, and you always so good to me; but‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut, you see‚ÅÝ‚Äîit hurts so.‚Äù
“I know it hurts, dear; I know it does. But men and women must learn to bear hurts in this world.”