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I saw what they did to you. It does matter.” John said, pressing Amy to be honest with him. “I...I just mean you don't need to be sorry...” Amy...said looking away. “I've survived worse.” she continued. John sat down beside her on the bed. “I know you have. But you shouldn't have to have survived any of it.” “That's life.” Amy shrugged. “I'm going to go take a shower.” Amy said standing up. “Alone...” John nodded. He'd had no intention of joining her despite several conversations they'd. Something of a rural nineteen fifties hippy before that term had ever been used. She followed the local hunt in the fall and winter, looking strikingly attractive in her tan jodhpurs, sweater, polished riding boots and dark jacket and with her short, wavy dark hair peeking our from under her cap. The riding crop she carried and slapped against her legs gave her a commanding air, too which must have had its own appeal to some subliminal appetite on my part. The previous summer when I was. More

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