"You are such a little silly."
"O what can I do? Nan, for God's sake understand that I love you. I must have you love me."
He went towards her blind with his arms out. She put her hands roughly on his shoulders and shook him the way an angry school teacher shakes a child. Her voice was full of shrill hatred.
"Be quiet, I tell you. You shall be quiet."
"You mean you don't love me."
"Of course not, you little fool.... Please go away, it's my time to practice. I don't love anyone that way."
Her eyes were dilated and burning. The kimono had fallen from one shoulder and showed the beginning of the curve of a breast. Her long fingers dug into the flesh of his shoulder. His back was against the door.
"O this is fearful, Nan."
The hat in his hand, red gleam of varnish on the door closing behind him. Then stairs again, numbered doors, milk bottles, newspapers. He brushed against the elevator man, whose eyes rolled white in a black face, and through the glass door where climbed the letters of Swansea in reverse, and out into the grey street. As he crossed a truck nearly hit him. A man with a grease smudge on an unshaven cheek under a shiny visored cap leaned out snarling: "Wanter git kilt ye sonofabitch?"
Sure I want to git kilt, sure I want to git kilt.