He always felt better after these late-night sessions. He felt---lighter, somehow; less agitated; less frustrated; less...angry. It was very the****ut...c. It felt a little like going to Confession! Of course, he couldn't go an actual priest and tell him the sort of things he felt at those moments, but it felt like the next best thing! In a sense, he, himself, WAS his own Confessor. There was no one else he could confide in! There really was something cathartic, and the****utic, about these late. I tended her herd and did the chores, mended the fences and grubbed out the ditches, and I plowed her deep and true every other night; Monday, Wednesday, Friday and then again on Saturday after we returned from town. On the next Sunday morning, she actually crowed her delight the first time she came. Her slaves and servants seemed to accept me as part of the family, obviously well-aware of my extra duties."Now," I said, as we lay resting on the third Saturday evening, holding hands and hoping. More

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