If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes. Get the pole out of your ass. She knew his appetite from many a homemade dinner and knew also that he had taken Bitch Vorsack’s comments to heart. Spurlock mused over the previous night. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully.
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