She gathered up the tattered clothing, staring hard at the tarnished buttons with their two-headed eagle. She knew, then, what he was. The long boots,...soles worn through and bound with rags, the ragged dolman. She muttered to herself and crossed herself sketchily. This was the hated enemy, the ravisher of Mother Russia. Confusion seized her. She had known this all along, known it from the moment she saw him lying on the path. Why did she now feign surprise? She had seen enough of soldiers in. "That's why I need her to help me figure out what to do."Her emphasis in that last sentence made me wonder. I leaned forward and asked even more quietly, "Trish, have you ever had sex before?"Trish swallowed and looked both terrified and mortified. Then she shook her head. "No," she whispered. "The guys that asked me out never raised their eyes higher than my chest, and the nice guys always seemed afraid to ask me out. So I've just been waiting..."My heart reached out to her and I felt a. More

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