Chapter 20

I shivered as I remembered the touch of Anatole’s hand on my head, the strength of his muscular leg, his tolerance, his kindness, his looking after, protecting me—those gentle massages—however misguided that might be.

For I now decided that, in some sense I was simply being kept—restrained and controlled, for my own good. In no way was I being injured or hurt (other than when I provoked violence). I thought and thought about how I felt about this, and, upon realizing that I felt a sense of wellbeing rather than feeling bad about it, more relieved than pushed around, I discovered what it was exactly that I did feel.

I felt cared for—possibly even loved.