In her case the barrier was not selfishness but the perception that her interest would be misinterpreted, naturally. While he was stirring his tea, she ran and fetched the comb. His instinct was in the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his declining years just as he thought fit. ‘As for your dagger—’ She held out her hand palm up, as if she expected him to give her the weapon. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger.
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