“You will be opened much more than that by Demonde when he hangs you on his tree,” Sydney whispered.I shuddered in anticipation—but, for now, in...envy.I slipped out of the big house at Trelawny at 3:00 in the morning that Sydney designated and met him beyond slave row. He took my hand and we moved toward the mountain inland from the plantation home compound. We were still on Carter land when we reached a level area in the lower foothills of the mountain. Demonde was a Trelawny slave. He lived. Then he began to hear sounds of all sorts. His vision was blurred until he took off his glasses and realized that his formerly acute eyesight had been restored. Looking down at his hands, he realized that they had straightened and were again very masculine, but slender, and no longer palsied.Shaking his head he asked, “Mrs. Sloan, what did you do?” But then he shook his head and added wryly, “Donald Whitfield, that is one of the dumbest questions you’ve ever uttered in your life!” Talking to. More

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