At times I swear I’ve never met a more jaded fifteen-year-old, and your lie about being sixteen didn’t get by me for one second, believe it. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. She went to the basement and shed her sodden coat and scarf, tossing them into her favorite modern appliance, the electric dryer. “I have given it up,” she answered. Come back—you must come back. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time.
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