but her mouth tightened like an overwound spring, and the tip of the cane lowered itself an inch or two. "Who is this?" she snapped to Bob, as if the object of her inquiry were a new and particularly obnoxious species of insect. "Please, Sister, she's my sister Meghann."

  "Then in future you will make her understand that there are certain subjects we do not ever mention, Robert, if we are true ladies and gentlemen. On no account do we ever, ever mention by name any item of our underclothing, as children from a decent household would automatically know. Hold out your hands, all of you."

  "But, Sister, it was my fault!" Meggie wailed as she extended her hands palms up, for she had seen her brothers do it in pantomime at home a thousand times.

  "Silence!" Sister Agatha hissed, turning on her. "It is a matter of complete indifference to me which one of you was responsible. You are all late, therefore you must all be punished. Six cuts." She pronounced the sentence with monotonous relish.

  Terrified, Meggie watched Bob's steady hands, saw the long cane whistle down almost faster than her eyes could follow, and crack sharply against the center of his palms, where the flesh was soft and tender. A purple welt flared up immediately; the next cut came at the junction of fingers and palm, more sensitive still, and the final one across the tips of the fingers, where the brain has loaded the skin down with more sensation than anywhere else save the lips. Sister Agatha's aim was perfect. Three more cuts followed on Bob's other hand before she turned her attention to Jack, next in line. Bob's face was pale but he made no outcry or movement, nor did his brothers as their turns came; even quiet and tender Stu.

  As they followed the upward rise of the cane above her own hands Meggie's eyes closed involuntarily, so she did not see the descent. But the pain was like a vast explosion, a scorching, searing invasion of her flesh right down to the bone; even as the ache spread tingling up her forearm the next cut came, and by the time it had reached her shoulder the final cut across her fingertips was screaming along the same path, all the way through to her heart. She fastened her teeth in her lower lip and bit down on it, too ashamed and too proud to cry, too angry and indignant at the injustice of it to dare open her eyes and look at Sister Agatha; the lesson was sinking in, even if the crux of it was not what Sister Agatha intended to teach.