Boston Journal, January 17, 1913. The name for this poor woman’s dangerous fixation is claustrophilia. It’s a sex thing for some people.
Beats me what the Harvard guy hoped to learn from examining her stomach. Though as Ivy League flubdub goes, that seems fairly legit compared to this Cornell savant’s treatise on “the poetics of permeable contiguities.” Yet another innocent perversion dragged through the sewage ponds of “critical theory”. Oh, the Humanities!