"No right," he can agree, shifting her up in his grip, feeling the bite of the rope pressed now between them. If she weighs a thing it's from the water not yet dried on her clothes, and whatever he does or doesn't believe--he wants to tell her, her soul's too light to go anywhere but up.

"No right," he repeats, up close. "But a reason. I know you weren't acting right, kid. I forgive you."