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In 2015, I lodged for one year in a brown brick terrace house on Dorset Square.
Sometimes, MP would have visitors to stay, and I'd give up my cozy room for a night or two.
If homemaking in the nineteenth century was overly romanticized, then boardinghouses, where paid labor and domestic tasks commingled, were hotbeds for vice.
The flirtatious housewife, the gambling tenants, the perpetually drunk and perpetually unemployed husband, the sex-crazed daughter — these were widely disseminated caricatures that became a part of American folklore.
More elegant than a fire escape, the balcony made that time in London feel exactly like summers in New York and not at all the same.
There were always people in and out of Dorset Square.