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Kim Harlow was unable to finish her story. Her last lines are about a friends of hers who fell to AIDS. And it was that illness which cat short this work, her work. She entrusted those close to her to finish, fully aware that her days were numbered. We put together her notes, tape recorded and written down. Not a word was crossed out in her chapters, written in a single, incisive outpouring. True to life. The word that flows most often from her pen is . . . truth. |
When I was twelve and decided to have my ears fixed, to have them pinned back, my mother was worried. She was troubled by the whole thing and wondered - she told me afterwards - she wondered how far it would go. And in fact, I think she had understood how big the problem was, which went much further than just having my ears fix, of course. |