Fortuna lifts her upper lip in a smirk. “Oh, Miss-so-educated teacher, who has come with all the wisdom of Paris in her big head”
A
s soon as she has finished eating the strange yogurt and bread mixture that Fortuna, her host, puts before her, Becca asks for the address of the police station.
“It is not in these parts,” Fortuna says.
“If you write down for me an address, I will surely find it. You do have maps around here, I assume.”
Fortuna flushes. Does she understand the sarcasm, then? Can she write? Maybe she cannot write. Has she humiliated her hostess? A pang of regret.
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