A cold sweat broke out on Jean’s forehead, distracted as he was with anxiety and rage. He took Fatou by the arm and shook her roughly.
“Where have you put it?... Come, tell me at once.”
“Ram!”
Suddenly a light dawned upon him. He had caught sight of a new pagne, with a pink and blue zig-zag pattern, carefully folded, hidden away in a corner in readiness for the next day’s festivities....
He understood. Snatching up the pagne he unfolded it and flung it on the ground.
“You have sold the watch,” he cried. “Come, Fatou, be quick, tell me the truth.” ...
He threw her on her knees on the floor in a furious rage and seized his whip.
Fatou knew perfectly well that she had touched a precious fetish, and that it was a serious matter. But she possessed the audacity that comes of impunity. She had already offended so many times, and Jean had so many times forgiven her.
Yet she had never before seen Jean like this; she uttered a cry; she was afraid. She began to kiss his feet.