She was tempted to touch him in the car as they drove to the empty house, but she refrained for fear of causing a car accident. The captain saw it too and nodded at the boy. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. You shall tell me if I am wrong. Perhaps I am still mad. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee. “And I have dragged you all over here for nothing,” she murmured. Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun.
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