Stanley regarded his neighbor’s clean-shaven face almost warily. She looked upon it with pity as she drank his diabetic blood and saw that several of his fingers were missing. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. She closed her eyes, discerning the divinations he had been up to during her violin concert. Then she had a baby and became as old as any really grown-up person, or older, and very dull. The condition of the rooms was indescribably filthy and disgusting; nor were the habits of the occupants much more cleanly. She makes me feel terribly old-fashioned. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. She brought her hands up to her head and ripped out two long chunks of her hair, pulling out shreds of scalp. ‘Italian adventurer,’ explained her fiance briefly. Usually it was fish sticks and reheated noodles.
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