Suddenly Tamea turned to him as if she had read his thoughts. “I have decided to be all white,” she said.
He noted the fascination of her habit of starting a conversation as if it were the continuation of a discussion, her trick of foreshortening words and ideas.
“I commend your decision, Tamea.”
“Will you help me, Stoneface?” she pleaded with sad wistfulness.
“No!”
She bowed her head understandingly. . . . When the gods rained blows on Tamea, Queen of Riva, she took them standing, and none might know how much they hurt.
“I hate you—but I respect you,” she said in a low voice. “You are a man of resolution, Stoneface.”
“I wonder, my dear, if you will believe me when I assure you it is very difficult for me to act in a manner which causes you to dislike me.”
“Yes, I know that. If you were unkind because you enjoyed unkindness, Dan Pritchard would not love you.”
“Tamea, you have, in full measure, the greatest gift, an understanding heart. In time I shall hope to be understood and—forgiven.”