A feeling of helpless guilt flooded over the young minister. What kind of a Godless creature was he? He'd wanted Julie so much, he'd wanted to take her in the most depraved sinful way, wanted to treat her like a whore in the Bible. And wasn't that just what he'd done?

Guilt-ridden, the minister slid off the bed, hearing the faint sob that rose from her throat, seeing by the light of the moon, the shivers that shook her lovely body. He couldn't stand watching her, knowing that he was responsible. He put on his pajamas and then partially dressed, he stole quietly from the bedroom. At the door, he stopped, turning back to look at the pathetic figure of his wife lying on the bed, noting that Julie had pulled the thin blanket over herself once more, as if to hide her shame and humiliation beneath its warmth. "I'm so sorry," he said softly, but she didn't hear. He closed the door behind him and went into the living room. He sat there, huddled up on the sofa until morning, thinking… thinking…

CHAPTER THREE

Bill Lowell was annoyed. It was a petty kind of annoyance, the sort of irritation that comes from a pesky mosquito and this little flying bug wore his collar backwards, the dean thought wryly. Oh, he didn't think that the young chaplain posed any kind of a real threat to their little sex club but it really ticked him off to think that a little nobody, a minister who had been at Craven for only one month would even dare to suggest that an investigation of sexual practices be launched. Why the whole thing was an open secret and it didn't involve any kind of coercion or rape or any of those things.

Christ, Reverend Bradley Corman was straight out of the nineteenth century with his quaint ideas about the kids of today. Why a lot of those little teenaged nymphets couldn't wait to get it on.