Only much later did I realise that my friend was one of many admirers. (RIP, dear Phil, I still often think of you.) The poems: are by George Gordon,...Lord Byron, Alfred Tennyson (not ennobled at the time of this story), and Robert Herrick. Picture of carousel sign. I cannot bear it, I cannot bear it, I cannot bear it! When the feelings rise up in me, I try. I do try. Mama sees the truth. She gives me a look. I tremble so, for fear she will punish me again, and the feelings come rising up —. "Geeze. You must still be asleep. This is a _whorehouse_. There are mirrors everywhere. Look around."I did. There were mirrors on the walls, and even one on the ceiling. But how could they be mirrors? I didn't see myself at all. What I saw was a fat woman standing by the door, and another huge, fat woman lying on a bed. Where _was_ I? "I don't understand," I said."Oh, for heaven's sake. Talk about _denial_." She waddled across the room towards me, and grabbed my hand, pulling me up off the bed. More

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