He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. ” “I will think of it,” she promised. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. I’m okay. They negotiated several steps, and then the stair turned a corner.
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