When it was finished, he sat wondering if he should send it. For suppose this woman had died of a heart that was broken, because her son had been killed. Then was he, the father of the man who had killed him, to send such a letter?
Kumalo looked at him. Where would we be without the white man’s milk? he asked. Where would we be without all that this white man has done for us? Where would you be also? Would you be working for him here?
He pondered long over this, for might not another man, returning to another valley, have found none of these things? Why was it given to one man to have his pain transmuted into gladness?