"You would not believe the number of times I've been stabbed in the back by someone telling me that I could trust them," she replied coolly. Not a bitter statement. Not angry or resentful. A sad, frank, fact of her life.

She glanced down at her arm for a moment. Then her eyes flicked back to him. Mina liked to think she was getting to be a better judge of character in this place. He, at least, seemed better than most.

All right. Fine.

"I was held prisoner in a Jamaican prison for two months," she said flatly. "During that time, a man named Captain Jonathan Rogers took a fancy to me. He came into my cell one evening and tried to rape me. I resisted. He grabbed an iron from the fire and burned me."

Dispassionate again. That was what had happened. No editorializing.