‘Dr. Burnside, before we left Chicago you told me that I was no longer your servant.’ ‘Yes, Wendy, that’s what I told you.’ ‘…and that I...would have as much say in our sex as you.’ ‘Yes, Wendy. You don’t feel that’s true, that things are different?’ ‘No…I mean yes, things are different. But there’s one thing you haven’t done for me, and I…I think it’s important.’ ‘Yes. You’re right. It’s important. If you look in the side panel of my brown suitcase, you’ll find what you need to punish me. Until. He’d never been a farmer. The field stood idle. In the barn beside the ranch, the tractor and harvester gathered cobwebs. The old Bellamy farm was merely his retirement home, where he hid more or less comfortably from the world and its reminders of his failures. Allan didn’t bother much about the field or the barn. When the mood struck him to be outside, he invariably went to sit on the front porch. Traffic on NY 231 was too sparse to annoy him, and the Compton farm across the way was as idle. More

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