Sue lay in her bed and examined the letter in her hands. She’d swiped it off of Miss Preston’s desk earlier in the day on a whim, and now she didn’t have a clue what to do with it. She didn’t know what it said. She’d never learned to read, and Miss Preston’s School of Combat for Negro Girls didn’t include reading in the curriculum. Killing the dead? Yes. Learning to set a fine dinner table? Most certainly. But reading? What Negro girl needed to learn her letters?
