‘He never said, but I think he wished his chest was hairier. Very important sign of machismo, to all the boys back home.’ Retrieving the razor fro... the bag, she begins to denude his chest of hair with the same sure, steady strokes she’d used on his face. ‘Less important here, or so I’m told by the younger women in the neighborhood. They seem to like them smooth in this country.’ The razor continues down, removing the thin strip of hair that runs over the center of his belly and into his pants.. ‘Oh yes, Kitty, surely you didn’t think I would let the matter drop so easily? I will get to the bottom…the very red bottom…of this, young lady. You will tell me who you are or you will resign yourself to never sitting again.’ Kitty screwed up her face. It was impossible. She could never tell him the truth. She would work on a convenient fiction while she lay abed tonight. Anything to get out from under his merciless hand. ‘Is that understood, Kitty?’ ‘Yes, Captain,’ she moped. ‘Good. And now. More

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