Long chandeliers of candles hang from the beams. Light flickers and jumps in the eaves. The ceiling is painted a spectacular blue. Like the skies on the day she saw Baśka and met the only man she has ever loved. The holy man is right. She was designed exactly as she was meant to be and there has never been a thing wrong with her mind, or soul, or body – what a thing to realise. She feels peaceful, like there has been an epiphany that will change how she feels in all the coming days.

– Will you remarry, Mr Udnam?

– I never married. My fiancée left me and ran away to New York with our maid.

– I’m sorry.

– I’m not.

He booms that out.

The older minister looks at both of them from the pulpit.

What is he doing up there?

He’s not making a joint – she’s pretty sure of that – although God knows they could all use one.

– My fiancée and her maid were wicked women, delusional types, liars, it is only themselves they deceived, not me! I serve God and this city and its residents without distraction now. It is better this way.

– I’m sure it is, Mr Udnam.

– Women are different these days too.

– So I keep hearing.

– It’s since you all got the vote, Flora.

– Amen.

– Not in a good way, young lady. It was bad enough when we let you vote over the age of thirty, but you weren’t happy with that were you and so now any woman can vote! That’s the problem. A woman doesn’t even need to be educated or have a husband or be God-fearing to vote now. It isn’t practical. It helps society in no way whatsoever. Then there are women walking around dressed – like you!

Flora nods.

– Amen.

Mr Udnam closes his eyes and he is opening his fat slick lips in silent fervour and prayer.

By the smell of him, he’s already doused in spirit.

He will be here for quite some time.

Flora gets up and tiptoes away.

She needs to walk for a little while.