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Ernestine thought about it for a moment. "Okay. You got somethin' I want." She saw the look on Tracy's face. "No,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], not that. I get alla that I want,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], baby. You got class. I mean,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], real,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], honest-to-God class. Like those cool ladies you see in Vogue and Town and Country, all dressed up and servin' tea from silver pots. That's where you belong. This ain't your world. I don't know how you got mixed up with all that rat shit on the outside, but my guess is you got suckered by somebody." She looked at Tracy and said, almost shyly, "I ain't come across many decent things in my life. You're one of 'em." She turned away so that her next words were almost inaudible. "And I'm sorry about your kid. I really am...."
That night,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], after lights out, Tracy whispered in the dark, "Ernie, I've go to escape. Help me. Please."
"I'm tryin' to sleep, for Christ's sake! Shut up now, hear?"
Ernestine initiated Tracy into the arcane language of the prison. Groups of women in the yard were talking: "This bull-dyker dropped the belt on the gray broad, and from then on you had to feed her with a long-handled spoon...."
"She was short, but they caught her in a snowstorm, and a stoned cop turned her over to the butcher. That ended her getup. Good-bye, Ruby-do...."
To Tracy, it was like listening to a group of Martians. "What are they talking about?" she asked.