Sara Darnell was a sprightly, svelte twenty-five year old who was known for serving detentions at meter maid frequency, if only to be taken marginally more seriously by the predominantly male Lincoln High Science Department. Panic leapt into his eyes as he brought his wrist up just in time to parry the blade. One day they were at tea in the laboratory and a discussion sprang up about the question of women’s suffrage. “I have been very selfish,” she declared. “Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. She took up the poker and stirred the fire vigorously. It filled her with indefinable fear. The doctor had sown a seed, carelessly. Something he saw there made him feel for a moment ashamed. “What did you say?” “Well, I considered myself justified in denying it,” Anna answered drily. “Did your foster dads ever try to molest you?” “Of course they did, John. ’ ‘What name would you like, then?’ Her shadowed features turned in his direction. I believe that I have heard my sister speak of you.
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