In the hour of the cicadas, a banging on the door.  Men, dressed in uniform, demand to know, "What happened to the baby?"  Tears.  She lies.  "It was a miscarriage, here at home... there was so much blood."  Handcuffs.  Flashing lights.  Jail.  The pain of loss compounded by the pain of sleeping where no one really sleeps, on hard beds, with strangers and bright lights.  Judgment where there should be compassion.  Hard faces, lacking imagination, unable to comprehend the inner life of a woman in pain.