THE CLOSET door always sticks. Opening it requires a determined yank and a stumbling step backwards. At the same moment, shrieking voices send a jolt of terror through her, followed by a horrific chill of confusion and anger as she realizes her husband and her best friend are huddled naked on the closet floor. It takes a moment to sink in, but the perfect line jumps to mind: “Blanch!” she yells. “I have to! But you?”

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