Mrs. Armstrong's cheeks grew scarlet, a flush spreading down to her neck.“So... you want me to stop the protest?” Mrs. Armstrong asked.“That's a...given,” I said, my anger boiling my blood. “You're going to go to them and tell them you overreacted. You'd never had a massage before, and when they started rubbing you, you misunderstood. We're not a bordello. We don't offer happy endings.”“But you do,” she said. “You...” her cheeks blushed. “I went there 'for' that. When I learned about it, when the. We ask people, poor people like yourself, if they would do some of the jobs that we do not want to do. Jobs that are not so bad, not really. Cleaning, cooking and sewing, tending children and animals. All sorts of things, simple things, everyday things you knew in your village."Some though, some of the people we meet are pretty smart. Someone like you, Tanda. Such people usually do not have happy lives at home; they don't fit in. To them, we offer a special treasure, if they want it."We will. More

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