“Catherine . . . your uncle assured me that you were ‘of age’ and that you were experienced and reliable. That I shouldn’t make any judgements based on your appearance. In retrospect, he was trying to make me think you were older than you look, wasn’t he? Just how old are you?” “Twenty-five,” Catherine said brazenly. Irene met her gaze. “. . . next year.” Irene stayed silent. “Okay, I’m twenty-three.” Irene raised her eyebrows. “Twenty-one?” Catherine said hopefully. “Just tell me which side of eighteen you are,” Irene said wearily. “I’m eighteen in five months’ time,” Catherine muttered. “And
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