The camp's matron looked at you with a firm gaze, her arms folded and her stance strong. With that look she had, you almost regretted telling her what you had — that you felt more like a woman than a man. Your lips parted to speak, to go back on your words, to go back into hiding: but she beat you to it.

“I expect you to do the same work as the other women then.” Miss Grimdhaw’s voice was pointed, leaving hardly any room for discussion. “And I expect you to have a more suitable wardrobe by month’s end.”

Her expression then softened — so subtly. If you hadn't been overanalyzing every little twitch of her brow you wouldn't have noticed. “If any of them gives you bother, you direct them to me, understood? That's where any complaint about my girls goes, me. Karen should have something spare for you til you can buy something of your own.”