All this was ours—our fine white sugar, our freezing air-conditioning, our steamy water, our kitchen fire. And our laws. For who shall provide the law at the bottom of the world? What means shall justify which ends? When shall the score be settled, in this life or in the life to come? Now, I say. Now is the time and we must write the law ourselves, not draw it from on high. At least that’s what I figured when I took my mother’s money.
