“I was desperate, and I was deranged,” she said. “I violated my own body with a fire iron.” I drew a ragged breath at this and hid my face in my hands. I could not bear to imagine such suffering, yet I could not prevent my mind from conjuring terrible images of it. I reached out a hand, blindly, and clasped hers once again. “My father engaged the best physician, and so my life was saved. But not my womb, Anna, which they tell me is nothing now but a mass of scars. They gave me poppy at first for the pain, and then I think to keep me quiet.
