Then I saw him bending over the card table.Of course,he came in at night and read what I had written!He heard me at the door,and when I came in he was picking up my wastebasket,saying he thought he would just tidy things up for me.He went out at once.I did not say anything but found myself trembling with anger and gratification.To havefoundajustcausewasawonderanunbearablerelief Para.48:Next time he came to my door Ihad locked iton the inside.Iknew his step,his chummy cajoling knock.I continued typing loudly,but not uninterruptedly,so he would know I heard.He called my name,as if I was playing a trick;I bit my lips together not to answer.Unreasonably as ever,guilt assailed me but I typed on. That day I saw the earth was dry around the roots of the plant;I let it alone. Para.49:I was not prepared for what happened next.I found a note taped to my door,which said that Mr.Malley would be obliged if I would step into his office.I went at once to get it over with.He sat at his desk surrounded by obscure evidences of his authority;he looked at me from a distance,as one who was now compelled to see me in a new and sadly unfavourable light;the embarrassment which he showed seemed not for himself,but me.He started off by saying,with a rather stagey reluctance,that he had known of course when he took me in that I was a writer Para.50:"I didn't let that worry me,though I have heard things about writers and artists and that type of person that didn't strike me as very encouraging You know the sort of thing I mean." Para.51:This was something new;I could not think what it might lead to. Para.52:"Now you came to me and said,Mr.Malley,I want a place to write in.I believed you.I gave it to you.I didn't ask any questions.That's thekindof personIam.ButyouknowthemoreIthink about it,well,the morelam inclinedto wonder." Para.53:"Wonder what?"Isaid. Para.54:"And your own attitude,that hasn't helped to put my mind at ease.Locking yourself in and refusing to answer your door That's not a normal way for a person to behave.Not if they got nothing to hide.No more than it's normal for a young woman,says she has a husband andkids,tospendhertimerattlingaway onatypewriter.”"“But I don't think that--” Para.55:He lifted his hand,a forgiving gesture."Now all I ask is,that you be open and aboveboard with me,I think I deserve that much,and if you are using that office for any other purpose,or at any other times than you let on,and having your friends or whoever they are up to see you-" Para.56:“Idon'tknowwhatyoumean.” Para.57:"And another thing you claim to be a writer Well I read quite a bit of material,and I never have seen your name in print.Now maybe youwrite undersomeothername?" Para.58:"No,"Isaid. Para.59:"Well I don't doubt there are writers whose names I haven't heard,"he said genially "We'll let that pass.Just you give me your word of honour there won't be any more deceptions,or any carryings-on,etcetera,in that officeyouoccupy-" Para.60:My anger was delayed somehow blocked off by a stupid incredulity.I only knew enough to getup and walk down the hall,his voice trailing after me,and lock the door.I thought-I must go. But after I had sat down in my own room,my work in front of me,I thought again how much I liked this room,how well I worked in it,and I decided not to be forced out.After all,I felt,the struggle between us had reached a deadlock.I could refuse to open the door,refuse to look at his notes,refuse to speak to him when we met.My rent was paid in advance and if I left now it was unlikely that I would get any refund.I resolved not to care.I had been taking my manuscript home every night,to prevent hisThen I saw him bending over the card table. Of course, he came in at night and read what I had written! He heard me at the door, and when I came in he was picking up my wastebasket, saying he thought he would just tidy things up for me. He went out at once. I did not say anything, but found myself trembling with anger and gratification. To havefoundajustcausewasawonder,anunbearablerelief. Para.48: Next time he came tomy doorI had locked it on the inside.I knew his step, his chummy cajoling knock. I continued typing loudly, but not uninterruptedly, so he would know I heard. He called my name, as if I was playing a trick; I bit my lips together not to answer. Unreasonably as ever, guilt assailed me but I typed on. That day Isaw the earth was dry around the roots of the plant; I let it alone. Para.49: I was not prepared for what happened next. I found a note taped to my door, which said that Mr. Malley would be obliged if I would step into his office. I went at once to get it over with. He sat at his desk surrounded by obscure evidences of his authority; he looked at me from a distance, as one who was now compelled to see me in a new and sadly unfavourable light; the embarrassment which he showed seemed not for himself, but me. He started off by saying, with a rather stagey reluctance, that he had known of course when he took me in that I was a writer. Para.50: “I didn’t let that worry me, though I have heard things about writers and artists and that type of person that didn’tstrike me as very encouraging. You know the sort of thing I mean.” Para.51: This wassomething new; I could not think what it might lead to. Para.52: “Now you came to me and said, Mr. Malley, I want a place to write in. I believed you. I gave it to you.I didn’t ask any questions. That’sthekindof personIam.ButyouknowthemoreIthink about it,well, the moreIam inclinedtowonder.” Para.53: “Wonder what?”Isaid. Para.54: “And your own attitude, that hasn’t helped to put my mind at ease. Locking yourself in and refusing to answer your door. That’s not a normal way for a person to behave. Not if they got nothing to hide. No more than it’s normal for a young woman,saysshe has a husband andkids,tospendhertimerattlingaway onatypewriter.” “But I don’t think that—” Para.55: He lifted his hand, a forgiving gesture. “Now all I ask is, that you be open and aboveboard with me, I think I deserve that much, and if you are using that office for any other purpose, or at any other times than you let on, and having yourfriends or whoeverthey are up to see you—” Para.56: “Idon’tknowwhatyoumean.” Para.57: “And another thing, you claim to be a writer. Well I read quite a bit of material, and I never have seen your name in print. Now maybe youwriteundersomeothername?” Para.58: “No,”Isaid. Para.59: “Well I don’t doubt there are writers whose names I haven’t heard,” he said genially. “We’ll let that pass. Just you give me your word of honour there won’t be any more deceptions, or any carryings-on, et cetera,in that office you occupy—” Para.60: My anger was delayed somehow, blocked off by a stupid incredulity. I only knew enough to get up andwalk down the hall, his voice trailing after me, and lock the door. I thought—I must go. But after I had sat down in my own room, my work in front of me, I thought again how much I liked this room, how well I worked in it, and I decided not to be forced out. After all, I felt, the struggle between us had reached a deadlock.I could refuse to open the door, refuse to look at his notes, refuse to speak to him when we met. My rent was paid in advance and if Ileft now it was unlikely thatI would get any refund. I resolved not to care. I had been taking my manuscript home every night, to prevent his