“How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime. Her pat answer to all inquiries was, “I let my sister Shari make me over,” while she kept from staring at her own reflection in the shiny shoes past her bare knees. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. I do not know anything of him since I have fourteen years, and that he sent me to Blaye to be a nun. When he awoke it was late in the day, and he was surprised to find Blueskin seated by his bedside, watching over him with a drawn sword on his knee, a pistol in each hand, and a blood-stained cloth bound across his brow. “Please come home.
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