for having anything to do with either of them.

The climax of the drama is reached when the journalist, taxed beyond endurance, pounds on the door, begging to be allowed escape from the incompatible relationship. The door swings slowly open, revealing an ominous darkness beyond. Not one of the inmates of that hideous little room has the courage to leave and face the unknown rather than remain within his own little hell, however unbearable.

All the while one is conscious that the concepts set forth on the stage are parallel with the torments of conscience existent in all of us in one form or another. The theme of the play seems to be that man creates his own Hell right in his own reality. The collaborationist sums it up quite adequately when he states, "Hell is just other people". The idea is not new, but the way in which it is presented is novel.

When I Was 17...

When I was 17 and a senior in a large city high school I spent a part of my school hours studying the other people around me. I had known since age 13 or 14 of my own Lesbian tendencies and I enjoyed observing others whom I thought might be also inclined (albeit. at a distance). In my chemistry class there was a 16-year-old junior of more than average beauty and poise. I had not ever thought of her as being potentially a Lesbian until I noticed a rather feverish conversation with a much older girl outside school one October morning. The older girl was very tall, quite masculine and unusually well tailored. My fellow student seemed agitated almost to despair and instead of her usual calm grace she nearly shook from head to toe. Alas the warning bell took me inside physically but mentally I pondered the odd scene I had inadvertently witnessed. Looking back I am certain that no one except another Lesbian or an unusually adult and perceptive observer could have interpreted the unheard conversation.

In chemistry class that morning my case in observation walked palely but quite normally through the room, then

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