“The ice baths,” Beth said. “The electric shocks.” “Even worse than that. Dear God, when he was twelve years old they had him bend bare-assed over his bed every night so they could strap him. To keep his dreams quiet, they said. My father did nothing. I couldn’t do anything; I didn’t have the power. The day my father fell off his horse and broke his damned neck, I went to the asylum and took Ian out.” Beth flinched at his vehemence, but at the same time, her heart warmed. “And Ian is grateful you did. Very grateful.”
