Who knows what they say or where they are likely to go? Who can tell what they really are? Under their daily-ness. Likely you would think at those times: What if he doesn’t love me? Or you’d remember stories you’d read, in the newspapers, about women who had been found—often women but sometimes they would be men, or children, that was the worst—in ditches or forests or refrigerators in abandoned rented rooms, with their clothes on or off, sexually abused or not; at any rate killed. There were places you didn’t want to walk, precautions you took that had to do with locks on windows and doors,
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