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And then my sister went to bed, and I sat in his small, dimly lit kitchen, on his lap, as he nuzzled my hair and then my ear and neck, and squeezed me hard and soft at the same time.

I remember staring fixedly at the window in his kitchen, into the dark snowy night, through a pane of cold glass, the moon casting shadows, a dark tree, listening for the howl of the werewolf, trying not to pay attention to what was actually happening.

After a couple of years, when I started to understand how inappropriate his behavior was, I refused to have anything to do with him. I never told my parents anything.

Uncle Doug did not hurt me physically, but he laid the groundwork for who and what I would become with men throughout my adolescence and into my early adulthood — a wreckage of fondled girlhood looking out a dark window whenever a man was on top of me.

His adult hand edging up my six-year-old thigh made it seem natural to me when much older men showed interest or pursued me as a teenager.

Or perfectly normal for me to try to seduce a year-old when I was And then I told someone else. And someone else after that. I chose to narrate my own story, rather than let the one Doug told persist any longer in my own mind.

Doug, like most abusers, relied on me not telling. At that "she" looked up; she simply withered her mother. How dare you make a scene like this?

This is the last time I'll come out with you. You really are too awful for words. Raddick was desperate, just desperate.

She was "wild" to go back with Mrs. MacEwen, but at the same time I seized my courage. That's just what I wanted, isn't it, darling?

I'll be back here in an hour So we three were left. But really it wasn't my fault. Hennie looked crushed to the earth, too. When the car was there she wrapped her dark coat round her - to escape contamination.

Even her little feet looked as though they scorned to carry her down the steps to us. Who would - if they were seventeen! It's" - and she gave a faint shudder - "the stupidity I loathe, and being stared at by old fat men.

We drew up before an immense palace of pink-and-white marble with orange-trees outside the doors in gold-and-black tubs. She hesitated, glanced, bit her lip, and resigned herself.

I went first - to find the table, of course - she followed. But the worst of it was having her little brother, who was only twelve, with us.

That was the last, final straw - having that child, trailing at her heels. There was one table. It had pink carnations and pink plates with little blue tea-napkins for sails.

Hennie squeezed past her and wriggled on to a stool at the end. He felt awfully out of it. She didn't even take her gloves off. She lowered her eyes and drummed on the table.

When a faint violin sounded she winced and bit her lip again. The waitress appeared. I hardly dared to ask her. China tea - or iced tea with lemon?

Really she didn't mind. It was all the same to her. She didn't really want anything. Hennie whispered, "Chocolate!

But just as the waitress turned away she cried out carelessly, "Oh, you may as well bring me a chocolate, too. While we waited she took out a little, gold powder-box with a mirror in the lid, shook the poor little puff as though she loathed it, and dabbed her lovely nose.

The waitress came back with the chocolate and the tea. She put the big, frothing cups before them and pushed across my clear glass.

Hennie buried his nose, emerged, with, for one dreadful moment, a little trembling blob of cream on the tip. But he hastily wiped it off like a little gentleman.

I wondered if I should dare draw her attention to her cup. She didn't notice it - didn't see it - until suddenly, quite by chance, she took a sip.

I watched anxiously; she faintly shuddered. A tiny boy with a head like a raisin and a chocolate body came round with a tray of pastries - row upon row of little freaks, little inspirations, little melting dreams.

He offered them to her. Take them away. He offered them to Hennie. Hennie gave me a swift look - it must have been satisfactory - for he took a chocolate cream, a coffee eclair, a meringue stuffed with chestnut and a tiny horn filled with fresh strawberries.

She could hardly bear to watch him. But just as the boy swerved away she held up her plate. The silver tongs dropped one, two, three - and a cherry tartlet.

I felt much more comfortable. I sipped my tea, leaned back, and even asked if I might smoke. At that she paused, the fork in her hand, opened her eyes, and really did smile.

But at that moment a tragedy happened to Hennie. He speared his pastry horn too hard, and it flew in two, and one half spilled on the table.

Ghastly affair! He turned crimson. Even his ears flared, and one ashamed hand crept across the table to take what was left of the body away.

Good heavens! I had to fly to the rescue. I cried hastily, "Will you be abroad long? But she had already forgotten Hennie.

I was forgotten, too. She was trying to remember something She was miles away. When I didn't go on she came back and looked at me, very puzzled.

But that took a whole cake to consider. Even then, "Oh well, that depends! I seized the butterfly list off the table.

What about tangerine and ginger? No, something cooler. What about a fresh pineapple cream? Hennie strongly approved.

The waitress had her eye on us. The order was taken when she looked up from her crumbs. I like ginger. You can bring me one.

We were dancing to that all last Christmas. It's too sickening! Hennie said: "Ripping! This place? For the first time she stared about her, trying to see what there was She blinked; her lovely eyes wondered.

A very good-looking elderly man stared back at her through a monocle on a black ribbon. But him she simply couldn't see.

The broken glass pierced his throat, and then he was dead, his head hanging over the sill, blood dripping down the wall to the floor.

And then my sister went to bed, and I sat in his small, dimly lit kitchen, on his lap, as he nuzzled my hair and then my ear and neck, and squeezed me hard and soft at the same time.

I remember staring fixedly at the window in his kitchen, into the dark snowy night, through a pane of cold glass, the moon casting shadows, a dark tree, listening for the howl of the werewolf, trying not to pay attention to what was actually happening.

After a couple of years, when I started to understand how inappropriate his behavior was, I refused to have anything to do with him.

I never told my parents anything. Uncle Doug did not hurt me physically, but he laid the groundwork for who and what I would become with men throughout my adolescence and into my early adulthood — a wreckage of fondled girlhood looking out a dark window whenever a man was on top of me.

His adult hand edging up my six-year-old thigh made it seem natural to me when much older men showed interest or pursued me as a teenager. Or perfectly normal for me to try to seduce a year-old when I was And then I told someone else.

And someone else after that. I chose to narrate my own story, rather than let the one Doug told persist any longer in my own mind.

I want to make money," said the impatient voice. Raddick pressing notes into her hand as they passed through the swing doors.

Hennie and I stood on the steps a minute, watching the people. He had a very broad, delighted smile. Are they allowed to take dogs in there?

I wish I had one. They're such fun. They frighten people so, and they're never fierce with their - the people they belong to. Who is she? Why does she look like that?

Is she a gambler? The ancient, withered creature, wearing a green satin dress, a black velvet cloak and a white hat with purple feathers, jerked slowly, slowly up the steps as though she were being drawn up on wires.

She stared in front of her, she was laughing and nodding and cackling to herself; her claws clutched round what looked like a dirty boot-bag.

But just at that moment there was Mrs. Raddick again with - her - and another lady hovering in the background. Raddick rushed at me.

She was brightly flushed, gay, a different creature. She was like a woman who is saying "good-bye" to her friends on the station platform, with not a minute to spare before the train starts.

Isn't that lucky! You've not gone. Isn't that fine! I've had the most dreadful time with - her," and she waved to her daughter, who stood absolutely still, disdainful, looking down, twiddling her foot on the step, miles away.

I swore she was twenty-one. But they won't believe me. I showed the man my purse; I didn't dare to do more. But it was no use. He simply scoffed And now I've just met Mrs.

MacEwen from New York, and she just won thirteen thousand in the Salle Privee - and she wants me to go back with her while the luck lasts.

Of course I can't leave - her. But if you'd--". At that "she" looked up; she simply withered her mother. How dare you make a scene like this? This is the last time I'll come out with you.

You really are too awful for words. Raddick was desperate, just desperate. She was "wild" to go back with Mrs. MacEwen, but at the same time I seized my courage.

That's just what I wanted, isn't it, darling? I'll be back here in an hour So we three were left. But really it wasn't my fault. Hennie looked crushed to the earth, too.

When the car was there she wrapped her dark coat round her - to escape contamination. Even her little feet looked as though they scorned to carry her down the steps to us.

Who would - if they were seventeen! It's" - and she gave a faint shudder - "the stupidity I loathe, and being stared at by old fat men. We drew up before an immense palace of pink-and-white marble with orange-trees outside the doors in gold-and-black tubs.

She hesitated, glanced, bit her lip, and resigned herself. I went first - to find the table, of course - she followed. But the worst of it was having her little brother, who was only twelve, with us.

That was the last, final straw - having that child, trailing at her heels. There was one table. It had pink carnations and pink plates with little blue tea-napkins for sails.

Hennie squeezed past her and wriggled on to a stool at the end. He felt awfully out of it. She didn't even take her gloves off.

She lowered her eyes and drummed on the table. When a faint violin sounded she winced and bit her lip again.

The waitress appeared. I hardly dared to ask her. China tea - or iced tea with lemon? Really she didn't mind. It was all the same to her.

She didn't really want anything. Hennie whispered, "Chocolate! But just as the waitress turned away she cried out carelessly, "Oh, you may as well bring me a chocolate, too.

While we waited she took out a little, gold powder-box with a mirror in the lid, shook the poor little puff as though she loathed it, and dabbed her lovely nose.

The waitress came back with the chocolate and the tea. She put the big, frothing cups before them and pushed across my clear glass.

Hennie buried his nose, emerged, with, for one dreadful moment, a little trembling blob of cream on the tip. But he hastily wiped it off like a little gentleman.

I wondered if I should dare draw her attention to her cup. She didn't notice it - didn't see it - until suddenly, quite by chance, she took a sip.

I watched anxiously; she faintly shuddered. A tiny boy with a head like a raisin and a chocolate body came round with a tray of pastries - row upon row of little freaks, little inspirations, little melting dreams.

He offered them to her. Take them away. He offered them to Hennie. Hennie gave me a swift look - it must have been satisfactory - for he took a chocolate cream, a coffee eclair, a meringue stuffed with chestnut and a tiny horn filled with fresh strawberries.

She could hardly bear to watch him. But just as the boy swerved away she held up her plate. The silver tongs dropped one, two, three - and a cherry tartlet.

I felt much more comfortable. I sipped my tea, leaned back, and even asked if I might smoke. At that she paused, the fork in her hand, opened her eyes, and really did smile.

But at that moment a tragedy happened to Hennie.

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