"Honey, that's what they all say."
Smiling, Mary turned from the window and leaned backward, stretching. "You don't know him. He's different."
"They're all the same," Anne said, her mouth twisting bitterly. "They're just alike. Don't believe any of them."
And Mary said, "With him, it's different. You'll see."
After a moment, Anne said, "That Earthman? That what's-his-name?" Mary nodded, and Anne brushed an imaginary something off her knee. "An Earthman," Anne said. "They're the worst of all."
"You don't know him, or you wouldn't say that."
Adele looked away from Anne. "You love him, don't you, Mary?"
"Yes."
"You're a fool," Anne said. "Listen to me. Love a man? God! You'll see. After him, there'll be another and another, and—just like Rosy—you'll watch 'em leave you and laugh at you until finally you're hurt so bad you don't think you can stand being hurt any more, and then along comes another one, and it starts all over again, and then one night you take a razor blade and go to the sink and stick out your throat and...."
"No! No! You're wrong! He's not like the rest!"