“How do you know he’s gay for Dimmesdale?” Fay asked. “What’s your textual evidence?” She began to cross Third Avenue, heading west, which was the diametric opposite of the way home for me. I followed her anyway. “There’s this one part,” I said, “where he goes into Dimmesdale’s room while he’s sleeping.” I’d just re-read that chapter while outlining my essay, so it was fresh in my memory. “It’s a little unclear, but I think Chillingworth touches him under his shirt?” “He what?”
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