As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. . She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. She sensed a pelvic exam coming on. It was no wonder, there was no money to buy food for the house.
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