"Not for real, I guess. Away back, soon after Father died, I think the fluff and tinsel mythology of Sunday school had some hold on me for a short while. But I kept remembering a few of Father's comments, spoken when I was too young to get the point. They fell into place finally, made sense. When I was thirteen I told Mother I wasn't going to make the motions any more. Stuck it out, too, with a bit of surprising help from Herb. One of the rare times I've seen him lose his temper--popped half-way out of the armchair while Mother was lecturing, and said: 'God damn it, Vic, let the kid do her own thinking! She will anyway.' I could've loved him for that, if he hadn't lapsed back into being Herb Chalmers--if he wasn't a stepfather--if I wasn't a crossgrained bitch who never knows how to make advances at the right time. Well, that time Mother was so startled the artillery just didn't function. She went meek, maybe to see what Herb would do next--which was nothing. But also she never bothered me about it again, much. I suppose because her own religion is pure social conformity. If she'd had any serious convictions I might have had a battle on my hands. Twenty to life. What happens tomorrow?" "The letters first. We sit quiet and hear them. I can't ask you to display anything you don't feel, Callista--as an actress, my dear, you're nowhere. But if you feel--well, indifferent about those letters; if it seems all far away and irrelevant, don't let your face shout to the jury that you feel that way." "I'll be thinking of the briers. They'll read no indifference in me then, I think." "The briers--" "Where I lost my baby, Cecil. Some little tree whipped me across the face when I was leaving there--a birch, I think. I remember I was superstitiously grateful, glad of the sting. A primitive game, Cecil, the mind snatching at notions of punishment and atonement. We're still savages, and I suppose some of the time there's no harm in it. As if the birch tree--the whole dark place, and the thorns--had accomplished enough of the punishment so that I could meet the rest well enough. And maybe the savage, the poor greasy primordial Eve down inside, would say that I have, so far. After the letters, the State rests?" "I expect it. Hunter doesn't bother much with surprises--not his method. The State rests, and I move they dismiss the case, and Terence will deny the motion because he must." "Part of the ritual?"