Para.78:"There isn't any key to it.Anybody can come up here and walk in.Maybe some kids off the streetcame uphere and did itlast nightafter Iwent home,howdo I know?" Para.79:"It's a shame the way the kids gets blamed for everything when it's the elders that corrupts them. That's a thing you might do some thinking about,you know There's laws.Obscenity laws.Applies to this sort of thing and literature too as I believe." Para.80:This is the first time I ever remember taking deep breaths,consciously,for purposes of self-control.I really wanted to murder him.I remember how soft and loathsome his face looked,with the eyes almost closed,nostrils extended to the soothing odour of righteousness,the odour of triumph.If this stupid thing had not happened,he would never have won.But he had.Perhaps he saw something in my face that unnerved him,even in this victorious moment,for he drew back to the wall,and began to say that actually,as a matter of fact,he had not really felt it was the sort of thing I personally would do,more the sort of thing that perhaps certain friends of mine-I got into my own room,shut the door. Para.81:The kettle was making a fearful noise,having almost boiled dry I snatched it off the hot plate,pulled out the plug and stood for a moment choking on rage.This spasm passed and I did what I had to do.I put my typewriter and paper on the chair and folded the card table.I screwed the top tightly on the instant coffee and put it and the yellow mug and the teaspoon into the bag in which I had brought them;it was still lying folded on the shelf.I wished childishly to take some vengeance on the potted plant,which sat in the corner with the flowery teapot,the wastebasket,the cushion,and-I forgot-a little plastic pencil sharpenerbehind it. Para.82:When I was taking things down to the car Mrs.Malley came.I had seen little of her since that first day.She did not seem upset,but practical and resigned. Para.83:“He is lying down,”she said.He is not himself.” Para.84:She carried the bag with the coffee and the mug in it.She was so still I felt my anger leave me,to be replaced by an absorbing depression. Para.85:I have not yet found another office.I think that I will try again some day,but notyet.I have to wait at least until that picture fades that I see so clearly in my mind,though I never saw it in reality-Mr Malley with hisragsandbrushesandapail of soapy water scrubbing inhis clumsy wayhisdeliberatelyclumsywayatthetoilet walls,stooping with difficulty breathing sorrowfully,arranging in his mind the bizarre butsomehowneverquite satisfactorynarrativeof yetanotherbetrayal of trust.While I arrange words,and think it is my right to be rid of him.Para.78: “There isn’t any key to it. Anybody can come up here and walk in. Maybe some kids off the street came up here and did itlast night after Iwent home,howdo I know?” Para.79: “It’s a shame the way the kids gets blamed for everything, when it’s the elders that corrupts them. That’s a thing you might do some thinking about, you know. There’s laws. Obscenity laws. Applies to this sort of thing and literature too as I believe.” Para.80: This is the first time I ever remember taking deep breaths, consciously, for purposes of self-control. I really wanted to murder him. I remember how soft and loathsome his face looked, with the eyes almost closed, nostrils extended to the soothing odour of righteousness, the odour of triumph. If this stupid thing had not happened, he would never have won. But he had. Perhaps he saw something in my face that unnerved him, even in this victorious moment, for he drew back to the wall, and began to say that actually, as a matter of fact, he had not really felt it was the sort of thing I personally would do, more the sort of thing that perhaps certain friends of mine—I got into my own room, shut the door. Para.81: The kettle was making a fearful noise, having almost boiled dry. I snatched it off the hot plate, pulled out the plug and stood for a moment choking on rage. This spasm passed and I did what I had to do. I put my typewriter and paper on the chair and folded the card table. I screwed the top tightly on the instant coffee and put it and the yellow mug and the teaspoon into the bag in which I had brought them; it was still lying folded on the shelf. I wished childishly to take some vengeance on the potted plant, which sat in the corner with the flowery teapot, the wastebasket, the cushion, and—I forgot—a little plastic pencil sharpenerbehindit. Para.82: When I was taking things down to the car Mrs. Malley came. I had seen little of her since that first day. She did not seem upset, but practical and resigned. Para.83: “He is lying down,” she said. “He is not himself.” Para.84: She carried the bag with the coffee and the mug in it. She was so still I felt my anger leave me, to be replaced by an absorbing depression. Para.85: I have not yet found another office. I think that I will try again some day, but not yet.I have to wait at least until that picture fadesthatIsee so clearly in my mind, though I never saw it in reality—Mr. Malley with hisragsandbrushesandapailof soapywater,scrubbinginhis clumsyway,hisdeliberatelyclumsyway,atthetoilet walls,stooping with difficulty, breathing sorrowfully, arranging in his mind the bizarre butsomehowneverquite satisfactorynarrativeof yetanotherbetrayal of trust. While I arrange words, and think it is my right to be rid of him