Chapter TenI wanted to ask Patrick to go with Matilda, so she wasn’t alone, but it seemed everything I did was wrong—so I did nothing.
My rats cheerfully chewed through the mattress while I paced and worried about Matilda, and about the way my trousers felt on my legs. They were too restrictive and too free at the same time. Trousers simply didn’t move like skirts. I grudgingly catalogued the advantages: my steps were faster, it was easier to fit through doorways, and I saw much less likelihood of some distant part of my outfit catching fire without me noticing. My clothes hugged my body like a second skin.
No wonder Matilda liked trousers. They fit so much closer to her body, leaving little of her form hidden. She wasn’t the type to hide. So she explored Hobart and I cowered in our room
