“If you do, maybe I could persuade you to take a few things off my hands.”
“What’s wrong with the place?” he countered.
“Nothing’s wrong with it,” she said.
“Then why are you leaving?”
“Because,” she said. “I don’t want to build my own fires. I can’t paint and look after a stove, too. Want to see my stove? It’s a good stove. I’m moving to a steam-heated studio-apartment, and I shan’t want it any more. There it is—”
“Oh, a Franklin stove!” he said.
“Yes, a darn nice little stove. Do you paint?”
“No.”
“Write?”
“Yes.”