I nodded slowly, the memory of him in that stinking cubby-hole under the poop coming back. And now, looking down on her, crouched there at my own fireside, I understood her need. She was his daughter. She had a right to know. So in the end I told her everything, even admitting to her that when I’d joined him on the dhow it had been with the intention of killing him.
She didn’t comment on that. She didn’t interrupt me once, and as I talked, her face so intent, her dark eyes seeming to hang on my words, it was like talking to Karen again.