What would I hold on to up there? His great ears? What if I fell and pulled an ear off with me, or grabbed his silver pendant and swung from his neck like a bell clapper? “No, thank you.

Hush Hattie!” I said, intoxicated with my success. “I don’t want to go to my room. Everyone must know I shan’t marry the prince.” I ran to the door to our street, opened it, and called out into the night, “I shan’t marry the prince.” I turned back into the hall and ran to Char and threw my arms about his neck. “I shan’t marry you.” I kissed his cheek. He was safe from me.

A strict belief in fate is the worst of slavery, imposing upon our necks an everlasting lord and tyrant, whom we are to stand in awe of night and day.