“Don’t blame the victim for the crime!” we said firmly.

“A woman’s wearing a tight skirt and no bra, goes to a bar in a bad part of town, gets drunk, takes a ride with a stranger, gets raped. Is it her fault?”

The chorus died out. This required more thought.

“What do you think, Lily?” Tamsin asked me directly.

“I think wanting to look attractive, even provocative, doesn’t mean you deserve to get raped. I think even the stupidity of getting drunk with people you don’t know doesn’t merit the punishment of being raped. At the same time, women should be responsible for their own safety…” I trailed off.

“And what does being responsible for your own safety mean?”

That was something I could answer. “It means learning to fight,” I said with certainty. “It means being cautious. It means taking care of your car so it won’t break down, making sure your doors are locked, and evaluating the scene around you for danger.”

Some of the women looked dubious when I mentioned fighting, but the rest of my measures met with approval.

“How responsible for your own safety were you before you got raped?” the therapist asked. Her dark eyes were fixed on me intently. She leaned forward, and the blouse gaped slightly because she filled it up too much.

I tried to remember. “Not very. I made sure I always had enough money to make a phone call. When I was going on a first date with someone I didn’t know, I made sure a friend or two knew where I was going and who I was with.”

“So wouldn’t you say that most of this wisdom is hindsight?”

“Yes.”

“Can you blame other women for not having the same sense?”

“No.”

The talk went on, and I confined myself to listening for the rest of the hour. The problem of responsibility was a knotty one. Women dress provocatively to attract sexual attention and admiration, because that’s gratifying. I believed that very few women would wear a push-up bra, a low-cut blouse, high heels, tight skirts, if they were going to stay home working on the computer, for example.