Guests: Mark Bazeley, John Ramm, Jay Benedict, Frances Grey, Martin Savage, Jay Simpson, Paul Thornley, Ellie Haddington, Frank Mills In the morning she was still battling a fever. She refused to eat so I fed her cold grapes, shoving one into her mouth every time she opened it to complain. She was a mini furnace next to me, radiating heat through the covers. Weight she couldn't afford to lose seemed to melt off her face. It was a decision I liked, too. I loved this quiet, smart girl who had entered my life and saved me. While I gathered my clothes, Lucy searched through the dresser for something to wear and, not for the first time, I noticed how all her clothes were threadbare and worn, all carefully cleaned and folded. Given her history, I wondered how she had developed such care for them. Maybe that's what happens when one has so little - cherish what you have, control what you can.

God knows why, but as I watched her read with intense concentration, I asked, "What book are you reading?" Slightly nervous, after waiting another ten minutes, she sneaked out trying to be quiet - not get caught, and began a cautious exploration.

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I didn't question why I reacted. It just was. Nevertheless, I'd have to be careful not to let Lucy know. She'd suffered enough in her short life. An adult she now trusted responding sexually to her could be traumatic.

It's all I have," I informed her. Grabbing my glass of vodka, refilling it and taking it and the bottle over to the table, I sat across from her. There are a couple of academies I can recommend that specialize in educating gifted children; one in New Hampshire and another near Boston."A broken soul is a person whose soul is exhausted, lost and destroyed. They are unable to be at peace and calm. A broken soul can not concentrate on anything else but the fact that they have a broken soul. They feel like they will never be able to live normally or be happy again until they find a way to get rid of their broken soul. At home, Lucy followed me into the kitchen. I made her hot chocolate and coffee for myself. Lunch could wait. I had questions. Sitting at the kitchen table, I asked, "Tell me the truth, Lucy. How did you know?"

I drank. I watched the silent television. I tried to ignore her and failed. What little humanity remained in me whispered in my brain, "She's a child. She's your niece. Look after her." It was a place of great desolation and silence. Behind the temples towered the lifeless cliffs; and before them, the blinding white sand stretched endlessly to meet the empty sky. Djeser djeseru, the ancients called it, the holy of holies, the dwelling place of Meretsinger, the cobra goddess: She Who Loves Silence.

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Having a broken soul is like having a ball of lead in your stomach. You’re tired, miserable, and tired of being tired. Life can get so overwhelming when you feel this way that you don’t even want to wake up in the morning. If you let yourself stay down long enough, it will kill you. Before the coffee machine had finished, I uncovered yesterday's mug in the sink, rinsed it and poured from the carafe, taking a sip; the weakest coffee I'd ever tasted. Something nagged at me again, something I was supposed to know or remember. She noticed he started wearing the clean clothes she'd washed in the laundry machine with her own. And most mornings, but not every one, he shaved. As a flood of tears arrived, I drew her onto my lap and hugged her. "Don't be sorry. I think it's fascinating. What visions did you have?"