It came to Yenderil’s mind that she had won. She had beat out the smartest obeah woman of the world—didn’t the fish devil call Trentwall the world, after all? She had freed her village. And the rest of the village would be grateful. The preacher, who had lost his two boys-them to the blue hole devil. Liddy Turkel, widowed when the devil snatched her man down. All the pickney-them whose parents used to beat them for their own good if they played too near the pretty water. No one would have to walk all the way to the standpipe three miles away and back to fetch water. And there would be good
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