"Lovely," he'd murmured. "You're a lovely piece, baby." His hands had moved over her bottom and hips, around to her belly and upward to cup her lush, erect breasts. He pulled her back against him until she could feel the flab of his stomach and the hardness of his shaft grinding into the crevice between her round, full buttocks. She steeled herself, not resisting, until finally he'd let free of her, stepping back away. "Well… go ahead and piddle. Then we'll have a little drinkie before we… ah… tumble into bed, eh?"

Laying there in the semi-darkness, Madeleine felt a slight tremor ripple over her as it had at his offensive, intimate touch all those years before, and graphically she began to recall even the most odious minute details… it was almost as if she could feel his depraved hands on her at that moment…

She stood there, subjected to his coarse explorations, his suggestive words racing wildly through her brain and she trembled, a convulsive shudder traversing the length of her soft, young body, from the tips of her toes to the very peak of her scalp. She looked toward the sagging bed, swallowing with difficulty. There was no longer any dubious mystery in her mind of what was to come… no overshadowing ambiguity. Upon this bed it would happen to her, and she would be forced to endure his obese loathsomeness. Abruptly, the rays of the setting sun caught her eyes through the window and the thought of escape briefly rushed to mind… but she fought it and went on into the bathroom. She must get to Boston.

When she returned, he held forth her glass of wine and she took it.

"You drink wine at home, eh?" He grinned. "You Canucks like your wine… I know about that."

Madeleine didn't answer him. The fact was, they were allowed only small amounts with meals, but she saw no reason to tell him this… or anything. She took a long swallow, hoping its effect would be to soothe, even dull her senses for what was to come.