Of course Callum was right. There was no reason why there could not be other children so long as he wanted to put himself inside me in the night, and there was no sign he would ever tire of that. At times I found it almost unbearable, yet the thought of making a new little Donald, or a girl child if God so granted, and the strange enjoyment Callum derived from his grunting labours, made me cast from my mind all thoughts of complaint.
I believed that a new process of creation was starting when I took a bite of mutton and was surprised to find that it tasted almost of fish. A child is surely growing within me, I thought, but I must have been mistaken, for the following day I felt agony in my belly, which in turn led to a great loss of blood from the part of me Callum loved most. I was too weak to work for another three days after that, and once this time had passed and I began to eat well again (for two mouthfuls of milk and half an egg each day were all I could stand before the blood came), everything tasted as it should once more.
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