Read this extract, and then answer the question that follows it: Smiling brightly I held two cobs out while my stomach rolled itself into tight, nervous knots. I did not like the way they looked, with their skin hanging in papery folds from their bones, malignant-looking brown spots on their hands, a musty, dusty, sweetish odour clinging around the woman like a haze. Making sure not to wrinkle my nose, because these were the people who had the money that I needed to go back to school, I smiled more broadly, showing all my teeth, and said, 'Nice maize, good maize. Nice, good,' I repeated, because I had no more English adjectives with which to describe my produce. The old woman looked at me shaking her head, ‘Ts-ts-ts-ts!' she clicked. 'Come, Doris, the man said, anxiously grasping her elbow. 'We don't need any mealies.' 'Shocking, simply shocking,' protested Doris. ‘I'd be shocking myself if I walked by and didn't say anything, George! Oi, young man, yes you!' she said, raising her voice to address Mr Matimba. ‘Is she your little girl?' Without waiting for an answer she gave him a piece of her mind. 'Child labour. Slavery! That's what it is. And I'm sure you don't need to make the poor mite work. You are natty enough, but look at the mite, all rags and tears.' Doris' husband turned down the corners of his mouth at Mr Matimba, apologetically, embarrassed, annoyed. 'Come now, Doris, it's none of our business.' This appeared to be the opinion of the other Whites in the street. They crossed over before they reached us. Some did walk by, but I think they did not speak English; in fact no one spoke at all except for one beefy youth. 'What's the matter, lady? The munt being cheeky?' A crowd of black people gathered. ‘What's the matter with the old ones?' asked a young man in sunglasses and a tweed cap irrepressibly set over one eye. He spiked the beefy youth with a vigilant eye. I was obliged to tell him that I did not know because I did not speak English. But, I assured him, I was going to learn English when I went back to school. Doris would not keep quiet. 'The child ought to be in school, learning her tables and keeping out of mischief,' she railed. ‘Now, don't tell me there aren't any schools, young man, because I know the Governor is doing a lot for the natives in the way of education.' 'They're kaffirs,' interjected the youth. 'They don't want to learn anything. Too much like hard work.' 'Speak up for yourself, now, Doris commanded Mr Matimba. Mr Matimba did speak for himself. He spoke most sorrowfully and most beseechingly. Doris darkened like a chameleon. Money changed hands, paper money from Doris' hands to Mr Matimba's. The beefy youth was disgusted. 'That's more than two crates of shumba. Wasted on a kaffir!' Doris allowed her husband to lead her away. I offered my basket, repeating my slogan, for her to choose the biggest cobs. She patted my head and called me a plucky piccannin. Explore the ways in which Dangarembga makes this such a vivid and significant incident in the novel.