Time after time he reminded her of how powerless she would be without him, how unkind the world was towards single women. Instead, they appeared to be at the hygienic level of tramps’ lodging-houses. . “You see, it comes after all,” she continued, “from certain original convictions which have become my religion. The key's in the lock, on the inner side. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. He's passed through some rough mental torture.
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