"George ran down the garden path to greet her cousins as they dismounted from their uncle's car. She showed no sign of caring that her slim boyish legs, encased in her elder brothers khaki shorts, were being scratched by the thorns of the roses that she skedaddled past. She was a young baby dyke, and the pain of the thorns only reminded her of the sharp nails of her lover and school mistress."
Methinks George has been reading too much pulp romance. New Upsideclown today: Names of the Roses.