" The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. It was really very nice of you, but to-morrow you will laugh at it as I do now. He swore when I tried to get it out with the ladle, and told me what it said. After the dance, they went to a party.
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