“It’s not really appropriate discussion for someone your age,” Miss Havisham says.
Proserpina just waits.
“Very well, if you insist,” says Miss Havisham. “But I’m not undoing my bodice again: I’ll trace it. Here.”
Proserpina watches her finger. “Where did you get it?” she asks.
“A harbor town on the far side of the world.” She shakes her head. “Quite a lifetime ago. Your lifetime, nearly.”
“Is it like a brand?”
“Hardly! The King of England has tattoos, you know.”
“Miss Greenbrier says the Romans tattooed escaped slaves.”
“We’re women, Proserpina,” says Miss Havisham tiredly. “To what else do we aspire?”