The story of O

O liked to think of it as a metaphor – her mother holding her head as if expecting one of her frightful migraines, frets about that girl of mine who never speaks – forever holds her tongue. Her daughter, meanwhile, waits on the moment when she turns to admonish acid Trevor over the wine.

Don’t give her that. You’ll only get her drunk.

Why ever not? Says Trevor. – It will loosen her tongue.