When she felt the press of his arm against her, she jumped, too high strung to immediately recognize what the touch was, and who it was from, and that it was not dangerous. But she was far too caught up in her motives to apologize, although later she would regret the slip of etiquette. But now -- but now --
"I don't know what he did, I don't know, but he asked... I finished wrapping his book, and -- Oh, his eyes turned into a field of stars, and I was suddenly telling him... everything. I ... I would...Things I never would have said were... I told him he was a predator and he told me I was 'very astute' and I said so many awful things to him, but he only... agreed. And he promised not to hurt me, he gave his word, but I don't know what he did to me, and I don't ever, ever want to feel that way again. You have to tell me what you know about him, please, so I can... I can..."
But how did one defend oneself against someone who pulled your will right out of you and turned it into his own? She was crying, without realizing it -- great fat tears that could have been rain if there were a cloud in the summer night sky.