Zelda sighed, and looked back up at him. "Yeah, well," she said, and trailed off. She sort of wanted to yell at him for being drunk, again - to the extent that she was able to yell. She was mad about that, too - and that was an anger that felt more justified. Alfred put them at risk by coming here, and he'd done it so that - what? He could accuse her of being angry about Jo?

But if she was admitting things: "It was just... It was hard for me to take letters and read about how I was violating your privacy and know that she can go where she wants, that - you could have touched her and I would have never known or anything, and I can't go anywhere right now."

Zelda felt trapped because she couldn't see Alfred, but that wasn't all of it - she couldn't go out for drinks or pop in on a friend she wasn't related to. She couldn't skitter over to Irvingly or to London or walk around the museum or hang out in the library outside of work hours. And she had never been a debutante, she had never signed up for this level of scrutiny, and she had it all the time. And Jo had none of it.

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