Not like she had. Did that mean I loved her less than she loved me?“Stop it,” Will said.I snapped my head up to look at him. “Sorry? What?”“...top asking yourself if she loved you more than you loved her.”“How did you—”“Been there. Done that. Not on this scale, of course, but ... Truth is, Paul, she wrote this Will months after you wrote yours. And at the time you two were certainly a couple unlike when you wrote yours.”Still looking at him, I said, “I hadn’t thought of that.”“And why would you?. She was not much older than me and we'd grown up together in the village and so I could take liberties that she wouldn't have permitted in anyone else, and therefore I knew that she wasn't a good, holy kind of nun. She was too sensual, too material, too attached to this world. She was too interested in sex. Each time I came up from the lake she'd settle me down in the long grass and at her assistance, she's ask me what I'd seen, for how long and whether I'd played with my dick.Then, she'd order. More

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