Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. Nothing was given away, and no one came so rich to the stall as to command all that it had to offer. Homosexuals weren’t looked too kindly upon in their exclusive suburban neighborhood, not even dashing handsome ones.
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