There was something holding women down, holding women back, and if it wasn’t exactly man-made law, man-made law was an aspect of it. “What’s going on with you?” John asked inquisitively, looking down at her abdomen. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. It was an easy one to smell early on, Sebastian had taught her: anything reproductive. "You won't listen to this nonsense, Sir Rowland!" "If you are innocent, boy," said the knight, controlling his emotion; "you have nothing to apprehend. This Joan would hold them for a little. Not fit to be dust on your boots. . Every word you utter puzzles me.
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