"What," she had written, "am I so afraid of? I'm not afraid to show my hideous deformity to the world every day--in fact I revel in the discomfort my appearance causes, in the revulsion it evokes. I have to live with it every day; so should everyone else.
"I make men make love to my ugliness as the price for the information they seek. Why can't I give myself to the one who might love me for myself? Is it fear? Fear that he doesn't really care, that he's using me, that he'll drop me the moment he achieves all he wants?
"I'm such a coward."
