standing straight as a pole of sugar cane, was shaking all over like she was in a tropical hurricane or else some kid in the cane fields was trying to pull her down by force. She had on this frilly black negligee and her shiny black-gray hair was pulled back in a neat chignon, like she fixes it when she's out for a special night at Tiny's. Miss Fulvia had on those orange stretch pants and a yellow and orange striped sailor-type shirtwaist and she was drunk as a coot. You could tell it because her little black eyes were floating in the whites like raisins in tapioca. She was crying almost silently and mumbling "Bitch, bitch, bitch" again and again, all the while pushing her unteased and straggling brown hair back up on top of her head.

Aunt Sarah Lou, after a whole lot of invective for about five minutes after I got where I could hear a little, quieted down. Then they talked so low I could hardly make sense out of it all, couldn't even connect the sense of the quiet talk to the sense of the violent part, which had been mostly name-calling by Aunt Sarah Lou anyway. I did hear them mumbling about "love" and "drinking" and "filthy men." They even named a few, but the only one you'd be familiar with is Mr. Wolfe, the one I just told you about. Then, like by impulse, Sarah Lou knelt by the side of the bed, gently set the empty sherry bottles on the Early American hooked rug, and reached out and grabbed Miss Fulvia and kissed her hard on the mouth. Believe it or not, at that exact moment the wind blew the door shut, nearly without a sound. There was a sound, though, from the kitchen. A strange kerplunk, topple, topple, topple series of sounds to be exact, which I found out later had been produced by that same wind knocking over the four pints of strawberries that Mother had set on the window ledge in the kitchen. Regardless of curiosity, I knew I'd had my thrills for the night, so I tipey toed upstairs without delay, and, having forgot all about my peanut butter sandwich and the bathroom, re-read the letter that Albert had secretly sent me by way of good old Murphy at Tiny's.

This has been the time of my life and I don't feel a bit guilty, do you? Even considering our plans. Go on and turn out the light again and let's go back to bed. I'm sure glad to know what you wear under those breechcloths. Were you honest-to-God the first heir to a chieftain that Albert converted?

ANNOUNCING THE MIDWINTER INSTITUTE SESSIONS The Education Division of ONE, Incorporated

To be held in Los Angeles January 28-30, 1966. Three days of highest quality speakers, panels, round-tables (and some lighter fare) presented by America's oldest and largest homophile organization. Plan to come to California for this outstanding event-get away from winter for a few days. Announcements of further details available later.

ONE, Incorporated, 2256 Venice Blvd., Los Angeles, Calif. 90006

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