[ She doesn't answer immediately, contemplating the words in her mind. They were familiar to her, in a handful of variations and languages-- but only in an academic way. There was little personal meaning attached, if any, and whatever interest she'd taken in religion as a study was fairly removed from any faith in God.

Finally, she tries the phrase, experimenting with the feel of the syllables in her mouth: ]

Forgive me, Father. For I have sinned.

[ But does she feel guilt? It's difficult to say. She hadn't that day, filled with the feeling of her own liberation. Perhaps she would, with more time, but. Still, her voice is quiet and detached when she confesses the single crime: ]

That day when you met me on the beach, I had just killed and disposed of a young woman.