FLORENCE MILTON My dress has not dried; my skin and hair are matted with debris. The sun is completely gone, but the bay is still lit, as though the Earth has pulled the light under the water. I have to make a confession. My behavior and my rhetoric are largely a pretense. I am afraid. And I am ashamed to admit that. As an educator I always taught my students, who are members of the plantation culture, that they should never bear an animus toward their “servants” or the poor, because a lack of charity is the sister of fear.
