Bilhah picks up a faded blossom and crushes it between her fingers. “If people liked her— loved her— she would not be so afraid”
Katerina pushes up against her as they walk to the afternoon prayer class and lowers her voice to an undertone. “That girl who is teaching you.”
“Mmm?”
“Have you seen the way she wears her hair?”
Bilhah searches her mind to remember.
“She has a twist on the side.”
Bilhah tries to remember the significance of this. “She is imitating—”
“She is not in our camp.” It is a hiss, with a press of Bilhah’s arm to emphasize the point.
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