"You'll pardon an old woman, Miss Enschede," said Sister Prudence; "but where in this world did you get that dress?" Ruth picked up both sides of the skirt and spread it, looking down. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. There are pretty much three types, those that accept, and those who run away, and those who fight. You see, I have had to look after myself so long that I have developed a terrible bump of independence. “You’ve grown out of them. One transgression; he was sure of that. But I'm resolved to see Lady Trafford.
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