The women laughed. Grace entered the house, shoving Vastianedda ahead of her. It was useless to answer back; it wouldn’t have gained her a thing. To get her to argue you’d have to be scratching her eyes out, and they did just that, even in her own house. They insulted her without reason. When someone lost a chicken in the neighborhood it was always her fault. That bothered her more than anything. And then they would say she was quarrelsome and loud by nature. She shouted, yes she shouted and screamed and pulled at her hair as though she had moon sickness, but only when they cornered her. And everyone had a great time making fun of her because they saw how ragged she was, how poor, how ugly. Yes, ugly, too. The Lord couldn’t have made her any worse.

And then the others, well, they all had someone to defend them. When gna’ Basila came home to find her door smeared with dung and lime, she locked herself inside, and it was her husband who went after everyone in the neighborhood, making a terrible scene. And when gna’ Filippa offended Elena for something having to do with four eggs, don Brasi went straight to her house and threw those insults right back at her, even threatening to take legal action. Only Grace never had protection or justice. When she would tell Gemello that they’d accused her of stealing chickens or abused her in some way, he’d say, “So why do you let yourself be treated like that? Either they’re right or you’re an idiot.”