[A knot of tension - fear, really, if he wants to be honest with himself - loosens within him. Okay. Alright, so he's not quite as likely to have to treat someone whose only crime was... that. He avoids even thinking the word if he can. But he breathes a sigh of relief anyway, his humanistic tendencies outweighing his own prejudices.]

Thank God, on both counts. I suppose I need to go read up on the legal aspect of that sort of thing [again, he's not going to use the word] if I am going to live here, I just. I never thought there would come a day when there would be any such legal protections. Even Moscow wasn't willing to go that far, and they were considered the more tolerant of the big cities.

For the sake of not turning all my hair white: if you get hurt, go to a doctor. I cannot tell you how many people could have benefitted from earlier treatment but were to embarrassed over their circumstances to get help.

[Which is a laughably hypocritical statement. Anatoly himself never went to a doctor or asked for help, because that would be an admission he wasn't ready to make. But he was a young man then, foolish and self-important, and he had seen people die from poorly-done home care in the intervening years and wised up on at least some levels.]