Rough Draft of Chapter Three from "Proper Ladies"

The sky didn’t so much call to her as demand her presence. She didn’t bother with the invisibility formula; for a pleasure flight well away from any danger, all she had to do was change clothes, hop into her machine—a sleek black plane with the word Schwarzschild swaggering along the side in great looping letters—and go.

Soft wisps of cloud passed below her, as though playing peekaboo with the landscape. Waves of grass and small apple trees rippled below, a malachite sea flecked with orange-p...