They said that she was a witch. But by now I was old enough to know that she was no witch. She was Human and soon enough I Knew what she was.
She didn't care what anyone said.
She cared only about one person in the whole world and that was himself. Perhaps, in away, that did make her a witch. At least she was not quite human.
The village still hated her and love her. The men still came to her by night. During the day she worked, marking baskets. Day or night, she appeared not to care how the next meal came to her, what happened to her, or what she would do when she grew old.