“Was I not strong enough when you flogged me for leaning over the oubliette? Who tells you these things? The physician, Sebastianus? Am I not sovereign enough to judge what is happening to my own body?\" She demanded. It has come,—and sooner than you expected. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. As the wedding neared, she bought some finer things: a veal roast for supper, a single pearl for the dowry. It was Annabel’s. Conscience drove him to this side of the world, to this bed. Easy enough. She's plenty clean below.
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