Gabrielle returned to the kinds of questions she thought she could ask. “Can you say more about what my life would be like? I really couldn’t make a decision without knowing more. What kind of apartments are they?” “You won’t have an apartment,” Mrs. Arnold said, and she smiled in the slightly awkward way that Gabrielle recognized as the precursor to more difficult information. “You’ll be confined. Usually with three other girls.” “Confined?” “You’ll be allowed out, on schedule. In restraints.” Mr. Arnold cleared his throat. “Probably all we can say about any of that. You’d be treated just like everyone else.” He paused, then quipped, “I hope you’re not modest.” Mr. Arnold looked at his wife, and Mrs. Arnold smiled her most awkward smile at Gabrielle. “Okay,” Gabrielle said, setting down her empty tea cup and staring into it, near tears. She had been so close to something that would have worked. Beautifully. But in light of this newest information, she wanted nothing to do with it. Mrs. Arnold seemed to sense Gabrielle’s decision, and now her smile was confident again. “Unhappy girls don’t make as much as happy girls do,” she said. “We run a very strict facility, because we have to, but very fair. We do our best to keep everyone comfortable and contented.”
