There were some boys (and girls, even!) whose hands were so deft a dandy nary felt their touch. Could she do that? Would disgrace weigh heavier than their steel traps?

Maybe. But by God, it grew more tempting with every aching, hollow growth spurt.

If she honed a limber voice, maybe she could become one of those famous opera singers and send something back home. Something back home from far, far, far away.

“Yes,” Lory agreed, only half hearing as her mind meandered back to bread. “Let’s go.”

Her accent had been the least thick of theirs for some years now, starting after she had gone to school. It got stronger in the home, but she regularly shed it like a shawl.

Lory picked her shawl up and shrugged it back on. The warmth had already faded from it, to her chagrin.