I ate, I drank, I read, I wrote.”“No celebration?”“I eschew primitive idolatry.”“Cruel.”“Ah, you believe in an ancient bearded entity ...lad in a nightshirt whose son was martyred to redeem the transgression of a remote ancestor?”“Crueler.” I turned to the waiter. “A large brown, please. Altenberg?”“Another eighth.”“Interesting. I was thinking of damnation.”“Oh?”“I was at Don Giovanni last week and will hear Tristan tomorrow.”“You are a glutton for punishment.”“Perhaps. But I was thinking of the. It was long after that talk that her father also took her to one side and instructed her that if she ever felt that throbbing itch and was tempted to touch it she must come to him and confess so that they could prey together. In the beginning Lucy simply didn't understand what they were talking about but it wasn't long before school yard talk and her own natural development caused her to fully understand that something between her legs was awakening and it WAS a throbbing itchy. Every week her. More

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