She held that I had done wrong, very wrong, and that I had gone contrary to all her teaching.

And how was I, who was never allowed to talk back, who lacked the very words with which to express my psychology--how was I to tell my mother that it was her teaching that was directly responsible for my drunkenness?
Had it not been for her theories about dark eyes and Italian character, I should never have wet my lips with the sour, bitter wine.

And not until man-grown did I tell her the true inwardness of that disgraceful affair.
In those after days of sickness, I was confused on some points, and very clear on others.

I felt guilty of sin, yet smarted with a sense of injustice.

It had not been my fault, yet I had done wrong.