Nancy Garden

Female Homosexuality, by Frank S. Caprio. Sappho Was a Right-On Woman, by Abbott and Love. Patience and Sarah—our old friend—by Isabel Miller. The Well of Loneliness, by Radclyffe Hall.

Dear Annie, It’s raining, raining the way it did when I met you last November, drops so big they run together in ribbons, remember? Annie, are you

Annie, are you all right?

Are you happy, did you find what you wanted to find in California? Are you singing? You must be, but you haven’t said so in your letters. Do other people get goose-bumps when you sing, the way I used to? Annie,

to imagine what it would be like if people always reacted to Annie and me that way—being hurt by us, or pitying us; worrying about us, or feeling threatened—even laughing at us. It didn’t make any sense and it was unfair, but it was also awful.

usually go through on my way to the temple.

thing I liked best about her, until everything changed, was that she always went her own way. In a world of people who seemed to have come out of duplicating machines, Sally Jarrell was no one’s copy, not that fall anyway.

I remembered then that someone had once said they thought that Ms. Stevenson and Ms. Widmer lived together.

through the Panama Canal to California

make me—want to be real.