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Lavinia has seen this happen, seen how, one day, a girl will raise her head to listen, as if for the first time, to the crying of a child, to the sound of an oar being hauled in, to a man’s voice, to the screech of a saw pulling through wood, to some comment one of the women might make. Within a week, the girl will be able to tell at any minute of the day or night, precisely where every soul in the place is. Then – or so Lavinia imagines, for it has never happened to her – one morning before light, before the girl has awakened, a map, new and totally different, will be imprinted behind her closed eyelids.
