“What has he to do with it?” “He was your sister’s master—her friend. Homosexuals weren’t looked too kindly upon in their exclusive suburban neighborhood, not even dashing handsome ones. She placed the freezer back on top of Ray Plote's old hiding place, now his permanent resting place. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit.
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