The shock he'd felt when he discovered the sketchbooks seemed to bring him back to the West Indies.

The sketchbook was opened to a plantation scene. The darkness of the place haunted him. He was tempted to turn the page to see what the next sketch was - to explore that place again - to see the distant island as his innocent eyes had seen it back then. But he struggled within himself. He wanted to put the past away, and so resolved to close the book. As he drew the book from under the bed, it pulled with it many loose leaf sketches. Sketches with horrors on them. Indeed, the horrors he was trying to forget.

These sketches had once been torn out of the book. They were the result of his sleepless nights in Antigua. The only way he could relieve his mind from his troubles.

But he'd remembered them in his haste to pack and tucked them into the sketchbook.

He remembered now: The book had fallen open off the desk, the sheets scattered across the floor. Fanny had picked one up, and casting her eyes upon the remainder she pushed them all under the bed. And they'd been there til this day.

It had been almost two months since he'd been out of bed. She knew all this time, she'd seen these drawings. The violence in them, the sex in them. The perversion. They were not suitable for a young lady.

He remembered the bawdy drawings that the lower classmen circulated. It was almost a right of passage for a young man at school to have a few of these drawings tucked away. They served the purpose until the boys became men. He felt a darkness in his heart realizing that her innocence of mind was destroyed by a product of his own hand. And what would she think of him?