Elpízoume ston Kýrio III
A golden beam of light fell across the mottled edge of the washtub. Dirty water lay stagnant within, milky bubbles dotting its murky glass.
“Have you done with the potatoes, Mary?”
Helna jabbed the younger girl with a padded elbow. Mary shrugged.
“Oh Helna, why do some people get all the goodness in life and others only soapsuds?” she asked the older slave woman. Helna’s thick hair bloomed in a wreath around her face, like a lion’s mane, as she ran a callused hand through it.