Chapter Ten
I’ve had my clothes stripped from me and replaced by a muslin shift that barely reaches my knees. The garment’s strange. The material is so thin it clings to my body, though it was perhaps made to be modest. A stand-up collar fits tightly around my neck. There are long sleeves, and the cut is full, though it is open down the front, a fact that is not readily apparent when I walk, though I find the possibility of it showing my “wares” oddly erotic. I wonder what priest thought this was appropriate attire for a penitent woman? I don’t think I’m suppose to feel the way I do.
Once I begin my walk through the hall to the confessional, my mood changes, like a dozen generations of Utopian women suddenly loom before me. I listen to see if I can hear the cries of these women as
