McClintock's astonishment merged into a state of mild hypnosis. Homosexuals weren’t looked too kindly upon in their exclusive suburban neighborhood, not even dashing handsome ones. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. The veins in his throat and forehead swelled and blackened; his eyes protruded from their sockets, and stared wildly; a thick damp gathered on his brow: and blood gushed from his mouth, nostrils, and ears. “I wish they did,” he said, “but they don’t.
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