Sarah luxuriated in her daily bath of ass's milk, awaiting the approach of the troublemaker, the slave boy Levi. How foolish of Sarah's daughter to have conceived a passion for this, creature, a mere object in the Palin household. Young Bristol's presumption had been dealt with swiftly: imprisonment without food for Bristol and swift exposure in the wilderness for the vile fruit of their base and insolent passions, the squalling infant brat. What new torture could Sarah devise for young Levi? She'd have to see.
There was a rustling. Sarah's servile husband announced the slave boy's approach with the utmost in deference. He had been well trained. Sarah gestured for the boy to approach.
"Levi, is it?" she demanded.
"Aye, my lady," the boy responded.
"Speak only when you are spoken to!" Sarah's wrath was swift.
"But my lady--"
"Silence!" Sarah trembled with rage, the milk was agitated. She knew what to do with this presumptious yet well-formed boy.
"If they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don't have to worry about the answers." Thomas Pynchon, GRAVITY'S RAINBOW
"Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away." Philip K. Dick
My blog: http://www.roscoewrites.blogspot.com/