'All this time I thought he-I believed you.' And he half fell from the
buggy, leaning against it for a moment to steady himself.
'. . . All this time wasted. ' Then he launched himself and began to
run, his bad leg jerking and catching under him.
'You want a lift, Garry?' Dennis Petersen drew level with him and
called down from the car rage
'Yes. Oh, yes. ' Garry caught the handrail and dragged himself up
beside Dennis. 'Take me to him, please, as fast as you can.
Silent, deserted, the great house crouched over her. Dark with
shutters closed against the sun, brooding and immense, smelling musty
as though old passions had died within its walls.
Anna stood alone in the huge central room and screamed its name.
'Theuniskraal!
And the thick stone walls smothered the sound of her madness.
'He is dead! Do you hear me? I took him away from all of you. ' And
she shrieked in triumphant laughter, with the tears greasing her
cheeks. 'I won! Do you hear me! I won!' And her grief distorted the
laughter She picked up the heavy glass lamp and hurled it across the
room; it burst and the paraffin sprayed wide, glistening on the walls
and soaking into the carpet.
'Theuniskraal! Hear me! I hate you also. I hate him. I hate you
all-all of you.'
She raged through the room tearing down the gilt-ri-amed pictures and
smashing them so that the glass sparkled like tiny jewels in the gloom;
she used a chair to smash in the front of the display cabinet and wreck
the old china and glassware in it; she swept the books from the shelves
into fluttering heaps, and threw their torn pages in the air.
'I hate! ' she screamed. 'I hate! ' And the great house waited
silent. Exhausted with worn-out emotions-old and sad and wise.
'I hate you-all of you.' And she ran out into the passage, through the
kitchens to the pantries. On the lowest shelf stood a four-gallon drum
of methylated spirit and she panted as she struggled with the stopper.
The stopper came out, the clear liquid welled and ran down the metal
sides, and she picked the drum up across her chest and stumbled back
into the kitchen. It spilled down her skirts, soaking in, drenching
the heavy cloth.
forming a spreading pool on the stone flags.
'I hate!' She laughed and stumbled, staggering off balance, still
clutching the drum she fell against the kitchen range. Hot metal
scorched her clothing and burned through to the flesh of her hip, but
she did not feel it. Her sodden skirts brushed over the fire-box, a
tiny point of flame caught and grew. So when she ran on into the house
a fiery train swept behind her.
Back in the central room, she poured from the drum over the books and
the carpet, laughing as she splashed the long-draped velvet curtains.
Oblivious of the flames that followed, until her petticoats caught and
burned against her legs. Then she screamed again at the agony of her
tortured flesh and brain. She dropped the metal drum and it exploded,
showering her with liquid blue flame, turning her hair and her face and
