his adjustments without disturbing anybody This very room you'resitting writing your stories in. Para.41:"First we knew of it was a lady knocked on my door one day,wanted me to provide her with a passkey to his office.He'd locked his door against her Para.42:"I guess he just got tired of treating her particular case.I guess he figured he'd been knocking away at it long enough.Lady well on in years,you know and him just a young man.He had a nice young wife too and a couple of the prettiest children you ever would want to see.Filthy some of the things that go on in this world.” Para.43:It took me some time to realize that he told this story not simply as a piece of gossip,but as something a writer would be particularly interested to hear.Writing and lewdness had a vague delicious connection in his mind.Even this notion,however,seemed so wistful,so infantile,that it struck me as a waste of energy to attack it.I knew now I must avoid hurting him for my own sake,not for his.It had been a great mistake to think that a little roughness would settle things. Para.44:The next present was a teapot.I insisted that I drank only coffee and told him to give it to his wife. He said that tea was better for the nerves and that he had known right away I was a nervous person,like himself.The teapot was covered with gilt and roses and I knew that it was not cheap,in spite of its extreme hideousness.I kept it on my table.I also continued to care for the plant,which thrived obscenely in the corner of my room.I could not decide what else to do.He bought me a wastebasket,a fancy one with Chinese mandarins on all eight sides;he gota foam rubber cushion for my chair.I despised myself for submitting to this blackmail.I did not even really pity him;it was just that I could not turn away,I could not turn away from that obsequioushunger.Andheknewhimself mytolerance wasbought;in a way he must have hated me for it. Para.45:When he lingered in my office now he told me stories of himself.It occurred to me that he was revealing his life to me in the hope that I would write it down.Of course he had probably revealed it to plenty of people for no particular reason,but in my case there seemed to be aspecial,evendesperatenecessity Hislife was aseriesof calamities,as people's lives often are;he had been let down by people he had trusted,refused help by those he had depended on,betrayed by the very friends to whom he had given kindness and material help. Other people,mere strangers and passersby,had taken time to torment him gratuitously,in novel and inventive ways.On occasion,his very life had been threatened.Moreover his wife was a difficulty,her health being poor and her temperament unstable;what was he to do?You see how it is,he said,lifting his hands,but I live. He looked to me to sayyes. Para.46:I took to coming up the stairs on tiptoe,trying to turn my key without making a noise; this was foolish of course because I could not muffle my typewriter.I actually considered writing in longhand,and wished repeatedly for the evil chiropractor's soundproofing I told my husband my problem and he said it was not a problem at all.Tell him you're busy,he said.As a matter of fact I did tell him;every time he came to my door always armed with a little gift or an errand,he asked me how I was and I said that today I was busy Ah,then,he said,as he eased himself through the door,he would not keep me a minute.And all the time,as I have said,he knew what was going on in my mind,how I weakly longed to be rid of him.He knew but could not afford to care. Para.47:One evening after I had gone home I discovered that I had left at the office a letter I had intended to post,and so I went back to get it.I saw from the street that the light was on in the room where I worked.his adjustments without disturbing anybody.This very room you’resitting writing your storiesin. Para.41: “First we knew of it was a lady knocked on my door one day, wanted me to provide her with a passkey to his office. He’d locked his door against her. Para.42: “I guess he just got tired of treating her particular case. I guess he figured he’d been knocking away at it long enough. Lady well on in years, you know, and him just a young man. He had a nice young wife too and a couple of the prettiest children you ever would want to see. Filthy some of the things that go on in this world.”Para.43: It took me some time to realize that he told this story not simply as a piece of gossip, but as something a writer would be particularly interested to hear. Writing and lewdness had a vague delicious connection in his mind. Even this notion, however, seemed so wistful, so infantile, that it struck me as a waste of energy to attack it. I knew now I must avoid hurting him for my own sake, not for his. It had been a great mistake to think that a little roughness would settle things. Para.44: The next present was a teapot. I insisted that I drank only coffee and told him to give it to his wife. He said that tea was better for the nerves and that he had known right away I was a nervous person, like himself. The teapot was covered with gilt and roses and I knew that it was not cheap, in spite of its extreme hideousness. I kept it on my table. I also continued to care for the plant, which thrived obscenely in the corner of my room. I could not decide what else to do. He bought me a wastebasket, a fancy one with Chinese mandarins on all eight sides; he got a foam rubber cushion for my chair.I despised myself for submitting to this blackmail. I did not even really pity him; it was just that I could not turn away, I could not turn away from that obsequioushunger.Andheknewhimself mytolerancewasbought;in away hemust have hatedme forit. Para.45: When he lingered in my office now he told me stories of himself. It occurred to me that he was revealing his life to me in the hope that I would write it down. Of course he had probably revealed it to plenty of people for no particular reason, but in my case there seemed to be aspecial, evendesperatenecessity.Hislifewas a series of calamities, as people’s lives often are; he had been let down by people he had trusted, refused help by those he had depended on, betrayed by the very friends to whom he had given kindness and material help. Other people, mere strangers and passersby, had taken time to torment him gratuitously, in novel and inventive ways. On occasion, his very life had been threatened. Moreover his wife was a difficulty, her health being poor and her temperament unstable; what was he to do? You see how it is, he said, lifting his hands, but I live. He looked to me to sayyes. Para.46: I took to coming up the stairs on tiptoe, trying to turn my key without making a noise; this was foolish of course because I could not muffle my typewriter. I actually considered writing in longhand, and wished repeatedly for the evil chiropractor’s soundproofing. I told my husband my problem and he said it was not a problem at all. Tell him you’re busy, he said. As a matter of fact I did tell him; every time he came to my door, always armed with a little gift or an errand, he asked me how I was and I said that today I was busy. Ah, then, he said, as he eased himself through the door, he would not keep me a minute. And all the time, as I have said, he knew what was going on in my mind, how I weakly longed to be rid of him. He knew but could not afford to care. Para.47: One evening after I had gone home I discovered that I had left at the office a letter I had intended to post, and so I went back to get it. I saw from the street that the light was on in the room where I worked