Abstract
In 1925, Tom Boggs and Robert Clairmont were best friends. Boggs was a rare confident for someone who today might be called an introverted extrovert. Clairmont was charming, darkly handsome, well-mannered, and well spoken. For all that, even after Boggs lived with him for four years and penned a book about their time together, something about Clairmont remained inscrutable. "The strangest part of it all," Boggs would later write, "was Clairmont was a very difficult person to know."
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