I have written, called—of what avail is anything—against that look. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. She peered into the darkness. “No. If you forget your sex, jade, I must forget mine. Sheila wouldn’t allow me to date a boy even if he was only fifteen—I mean sixteen, like I am, you see. He then unfolded his choice and held it before her face. Left to Capting Roding, as he told me hisself, you’d be in prison this moment.
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