"Yeah," Mary said. "I been on the receiving end of a whip more often than wielding one." Mary had lived as a woman of ill repute for a very long time, and more than once she'd been stripped half naked in some filthy village square so someone could dole out what they saw as a fitting punishment. (At the time she'd taken it willingly, trying to will herself to be as strong as Jesus had been. They'd put him on the receiving end of a whip as well.)
Mary stabbed herself another fork full of lasagna and considered her friend, wondering how okay he really was. "So," she said, "a giraffe farm, is it?"