“No—no! I told you how I was after I decided to go with him. My legs were buckling then, too, but I made no attempt to stop—other than pretending for quite another purpose. I did want to stop, I didn’t like it, I didn’t like him, but I went ahead in spite of it. What it was doing to me was too important. The sick thrill of it was too important. The next day I felt ashamed when I thought of it, but when I didn’t think, I felt relieved. In some ways I was glad I did it—every time. Even after the afternoon with the man who didn’t want to play my game. I’d wanted to lose myself in it. I always thought hard about what I was doing, closing my mind to the things I didn’t like for the sake of the things I did.”

He sat down at the table again. He couldn’t look at her.

“That’s only the half of it, Joe. I couldn’t help thinking and feeling ashamed. It made me afraid to go out of the house. I couldn’t help feeling that people could see I was dirty. I’d call in sick at the job. That last summer, I did it too often. They fired me.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

She bent down beside him, putting her hands on the edge of the table to brace herself. “How could I? It was proof of what I was. It reminded me of how much I should feel dirty and ashamed. That’s how destructive it is—the whole thing. I’m still expecting you to hit me—and if I succeeded in making you do it, I’d be indulging myself.”

“That’s a way of putting it.”

“I would. Life would be simpler if I could be punished once, like a child. I want it even though I know it won’t work.

“I still want the things I wanted when I was going to college. I want to have a success and be somebody.” She sat down on the floor and looked up at him. “Is that insane? I still want to be useful.”

“No.”