When it was time, I went to Emmeline’s quarters. It was the first time I had been there as an invited guest, and the first thing I noticed, before I even entered the bedroom, was the thickness of the silence. I paused in the doorway—they had not noticed me yet—and realized it was their whispering. On the edge of inaudibility, the rub of breath over vocal cords made ripples in the air. Soft plosives that were gone before you could hear them, muffled sibilants that you might mistake for the sound of your own blood in your ears. Each time I thought it had stopped a hushed sussuration brushed against my ear like a moth alighting on my hair, then fluttered away again.

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