Waking Monday morning at Dody’s I sat straight up in bed, my heart pounding. He was old. He was my stepfather. I hated him. And I’d enjoyed myself. Promptly I slid back down again stuffing the pillow over my face. Any combination of two would have been enough to send me under—all four was too much. Besides, I hated him but I loved him too. Yes. I know all about that sort of thing. Christ, I should, I’d heard nothing else my last two years in New York. “They have this terrific love-hate thing going,” everybody said about everybody else. “You watch, it’s going to destroy them—.” But never about me. When I took to someone I took to them, and when I took against them ditto. Mostly I felt indifference. Hmm. If you don’t mind I believe I will take this opportunity to apologize for my former fatuousness.