"I—I—I belong here."
"It's an asylum, isn't it?" she asked quite coolly.
"N—no." Jerry missed the irony. "Not at all. I live here. It's my place. You—you're the first woman that ever got in here, and I can't imagine how you did it. I—I don't want to be impolite, but I'm afraid you'll have to go at once."
The sound of her laughter was most disconcerting. Jerry had no lack of a sense of humor and yet there was nothing that he could see to laugh at.
"That's very amusing," she said. "A moment ago you were going to throw me over the wall and now you're afraid you're impolite."
Jerry found himself smiling in spite of himself.
"I—I don't suppose I really meant that," he muttered.
"What? Throwing me over the wall or being polite?"
He looked rather bewildered, I think, at the inanity of her conversation. Jerry wasn't much given to small talk.
"I'm sorry you don't think I'm polite. I—I'm not used to talking to women. They're too fussy about trifles. What does it matter—"