“She told me what happened to her as a bride at Knifetown.” Something seizes up in my chest. “Don’t tell me . . .” “No, nothing like that,” she says, looking back at Aaron again. “But it was bad enough. Poked and prodded and graded. Bishop gave each bride a freaking grade, like a side of beef. That’s how he set their reserve price. Grade B would sell for less than an A. . . .” I wave my hand, disgusted. “I get it.” “It was humiliating. Awful. But no one . . . violated her.”
