Not that she expected much in the way of fair play after stumbling on a secret her father had kept in the pages of the Billhook and Scythe, the one that was always in the cupboard beside his bed. A pile of yellowing clippings neatly cut from the Herald, a pile of devastating secrets to destroy her world and make her different from everyone else, secrets to make her ashamed for ever, make her introverted and hidden, not the sort of secret you shared with your best friends, not the subjects of your public whispers about boys and what they would do to you.
Probably not the sort of passage you had expected.