"Come on, Mercy," Gareth said, grabbing her by the elbow.

Mercy's hand went to her head. "I don't know if I can dance, Gareth. My head may not be spinning, but it's not staying in one place either."

"It will be good for you," Gareth insisted with a tentative laugh as he pulled her along. "Sweat out those poisons." She let herself be pulled.

Mercy feared she resembled nothing so much as Jello jiggling around the living room with Gareth. She knew it was not considered politically correct in her circle to wear a harness, but this dance was making the necessity painfully obvious. Diana and Myrine were built little differently than boys, and not even Lily had much to fear from gravity--they could afford to make the political gesture. But Mercy was on the far side of buxom and had nursed two greedy boys longer than was aesthetically desirable. Maybe she should count her blessings and be glad she already had a man; her chances on the open market probably wouldn't be very good anymore.

Party on