"Clare and I kept no secrets - that was the heady, reckless aspect of our friendship. Perhaps it was our substitute for the creaturely knowledge other couples glean from sex. Clare and I confessed everything. We stripped ourselves naked and numbered our faults. We knew one another's most disreputable fantasies; we confessed our deceits and greeds, our self-flattering lies. We described all our sexual entaglements, and knew the condition of one another's bowels."
A Home at the End of the World, Michael Cunnigham
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