"Wenches," she repeated. A sweet-and-sour mix of feelings. Buffy still gingerly held her own last share between her fingers while she lifted one foot and freed it from a low-heeled sandal. Summer fashion. She had sorely missed it. This glimpse of July was reinvigorating. Energizing.

She mistakenly identified the weather as the source of that electrification along her skin.

"Maybe that's why I hid it. Maybe I hid it because you lumped me into a category like wenches." An innocuous enough statement until she realized that it was as good as admitting to her own doubts. Admitting to try and trace motives and histories she couldn't remember.