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My doll Janie has no waist and her body is like a tub with feet on it.  Sometimes I beat her but I always kiss her afterwards.  When I have kissed all the paint off her body I shall tie a ribbon about it so she shan’t look shabby.  But it must be blue—­ it mustn’t be pink—­ pink shows the dirt on her face that won’t wash off.

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I beat Janie and beat her... but still she smiled... so I scratched her between the eyes with a pin.  Now she doesn’t love me anymore... she scowls... and scowls... though I’ve begged her to forgive me and poured sugar in the hole at the back of her head.

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Mama says Janie is a fairy doll and she has forgiven me—­ that she’s gone to the market to buy me some sweets.  —­Now she’s at the door and a little bag tied to her neck—­ I run to Janie and kiss her all over....  Ah... she is still frowning.  I let the sweets drop on the floor—­ mama has told you a lie.

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Chinaman singing in street:  gleen ledd-ish-es, gleen ledd-ish-es—­ hot sun shining on your face—­ it must be a new day.  But why aren’t you happy if it’s a new day?  Because something has happened... something sad and terrible....  Now I remember... it’s Janie.  Yesterday I took Janie out and tied my handkerchief over her face and put sand in it and threw her into the ditch down in the black water under the dock leaves... and when mama asked me where Janie was I said I had lost her.

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I’m glad it is night-time so I’ll be able to go to sleep and forget all about it....  But mama looks at my tongue and says she will give me senna tea.  When you smell the tea you shut your eyes tight and pretend not to hear the soft, cool voice of mama that goes over your forehead like a little wind.  And then you lie in the dark and stare... and stare... till the faces come... yellow faces with leering eyes drifting in a greeny mist....  I wonder if Janie sees faces out there... alone in the dark....  I wonder if she has got the handkerchief off or if the water has gone in the hole where the whistle was at the back of her head and drowned her... or if the stars can see her under the dock leaves?

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It’s smoky-blue and still over the red road.  Wind must be lying down with its tail under it—­ doesn’t even flick off the flies.  And you can hear the silence buzzing in the gum trees, the way the angels buzzed when they flew through the cedars of Lebanon with thin gauze wings you could see through.  Nice to hear the silence buzzing—­ till it comes too close and booms in your ears and presses all over you till you scream....  When you scream at the silence it goes to jingling pieces like a silver mirror broken into tiny bits.  Perhaps its wings are made of glass—­ perhaps it lives down in a dark, dark cave and only comes up to warm its wings in the sun....  It’s cold in the cave—­ no matter how you cover yourself up.  Little girls sit there dressed in white and the dolls in their arms all have white handkerchiefs over their faces.  Their shadows cannot play with them... their shadows lie down at their feet... for the little girls sit stiff as stones with their backs to the mouth of the cave where a little light falls off the wings of the silence when it comes down out of the sun.