Boarding House Blues
I run a boarding house for women in an old grey mansion I inherited from my austere aunt, who conveniently died when I was twenty-five, leaving me with lots of money to guarantee my life’s security. I hated the house, and couldn’t imagine living in it—at least in the form it passed into my hands: enormous, damp and shadowy. So, I opened up the small stuffy rooms, creating spacious large ones, redecorated in endless shades of white, and took in boarders.
There are two large living rooms in the house, an expansive porch across the front, and eight rooms in the two upstairs floors for renters. My own private rooms on the first floor are separated from the rest. Sometimes, I need the separation from the giggling schoolgirl antics of the young women that rent from me.
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