He tried to help her up but she pushed away, crying. He kept asking what was wrong and she kept saying no, please don’t kill me, I’m not cold. He ...ried to calm her, he gave her some water and she accepted it and sat next to the couch on the floor still shivering. He asked her what happened and she stared crying again, he held her hand and said its gonna be okay, I’m here, not knowing what he would be up against, all he knew was that seeing this girl cry made something in his tummy stir and he. I'm no religious zealot, looking for a clinic to bomb; neither am I going to hand out pamphlets and scream, "Murderer!" when women walk into them.For me it's far more personal.My dad and I never really got along. He didn't even want me, a fact I intuited (I think) pretty early; not until I was about eleven years of age did I really begin to grasp that.You see, all through my childhood, whenever I did something wrong -- which was pretty much every week -- my dad would say, "Shoulda been aborted,. More

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