The great front room of my father and stepmother’s California farmhouse was always kept sealed and darkened. Unused stone fireplaces hulked at the ends of the long rectangular room. Boxes and wooden tables were abandoned there. Across the longest wall, a low bookshelf ran, with works in Greek and Latin and English, a menacing storehouse of philosophy and logic from which I always shrank.
KeywordsFilial Piety State Mental Hospital Wooden Table Sixth Sense Desperate Attempt
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