Cruz made a point of spending the next three days without venturing beyond Jelly's estate. He did spend a lot of time outdoors. Jelly's estate easily covered at least five acres of land; it was protected from pollution by the outside world by a highly ornamental fence of wrought iron. Its beautifully forged spears with shafts entwined by vines ended in oval blades that were very sharp. Anyone attempting to climb over that fence ran a high risk of castration.
In truth, Cruz felt a little castrated himself. He hadn't felt so powerless in a long, long time. He'd felt more powerful while sailing across the ocean in a fucking boat, he'd felt more powerful on Pitcairn even while he was being fucked around by the Christian brothers.
He was at Jelly's mercy. He had to resign himself to that fact, and learn to enjoy it. It ran completely against his nature, and it was a difficult psychological exercise.
