I HAVE DECIDED to write this
account because， long as my life has been， it has given me
no opportunity before this to say what I wish to put down
here. Perhaps the time was not right to do it before.
When I was young， and even into my middle years，
a scrim of silence surrounded what really happened in our
lives. If there was talk， it was quiet conjecture about the
little discreet adulteries， the attic madnesses， and the pantry
drinking of our friends and neighbors. Rumor and gossip
were conveyed in whispers. Secrets were surely no better
kept than they are now， but they lived quietly， under the
breath. They never appeared in public print or were re-
ported by professional gossips on the air waves.
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