Mary Casey said. “It’s very cumbersome and irritating. It chafes my skin so I can hardly walk. And it’s not very sanitary, either. It has two small outlets, but I have to pour water down it to clean myself.” “I know that,” Stagg said impatiently. “That’s not what’s bothering me.” Mary looked at him and said, “Oh, no!” His antlers had lost their floppiness and were standing stiff and erect. “Peter,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm, “please don’t. You mustn’t. You’ll kill me.” “No, I won’t,” he answered, almost sobbing—but whether from his desire or from agony at not being able to control himself, she could not tell. “I’ll be as gentle as possible. I promise it won’t be too much for you.” “Once is too much!” she said. “We’ve not been married by a priest. It would be a sin.” “No sin if you don’t do it willingly,” he said hoarsely. “And you’ve no choice. Believe me, you’ve no choice!” “I won’t do it,”
