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“It’s not really appropriate discussion for someone your age,” Miss Havisham says.

Proserpina just waits.

“Very well, if you insist,” says Miss Havisham. “But I’m not undoing my bodice again: I’ll trace it. Here.”

Proserpina watches her finger. “Where did you get it?” she asks.

“A harbor town on the far side of the world.” She shakes her head. “Quite a lifetime ago. Your lifetime, nearly.”

“Is it like a brand?”

“Hardly! The King of England has tattoos, you know.”

“Miss Greenbrier says the Romans tattooed escaped slaves.”

“We’re women, Proserpina,” says Miss Havisham tiredly. “To what else do we aspire?”