”“Why not?”“Because it’s different, with girls. It doesn’t count.”I rolled my eyes. For someone so progressive, Lucy’s sense of gender...politics could be really twisted when it suited her.Session 49:“I was born to be your slave.”“Say it again.”“I was born to be your slave.”“Good girl.”My sister twitched with pleasure at the compliment.“You were born to serve. Say it.”“I was born to serve.”“Again.”“I was born to serve.”Session 43:“Hypothetical: you walk in on me and Mom having sex.”Shake.I knew. Yes that was the name that seemed appropriate for him. It was her dad who took her into a jungle that she has never seen before despite being born hereabouts, and not far away from their house near the river. A scary woman, thin, wrinkled like a dried Chinese plum, with long hair completely white, lived in a house on legs of dark old weathered teak. She knew her dad and greeted him like a friend in her voice as squeaky as a rusty hinge. They ate and she and her dad smoked some. More

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