It was in Hawthorn, of all middle-class suburban places, that I saw them. And where my dislike of the full-face burqa turned to loathing.

And I hate myself for it, because my reaction goes against so much that I've taught my children.

We were in a hardware store and the two women ahead of us at the cash register were clad head-to-toe in a billowing black tent. Even their hands were hidden, in black gloves.

Only the eyes peeked out, as if through a mail slot. And one had even that gap veiled.

They could see out, but I couldn't see in.

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