"Perhaps."
"Everybody's got to belong. Ask any psychologist."
"Perhaps. I wouldn't know."
After college it had been work. He had lost three jobs in a row for the same reason.
"We're sorry, Westing, but you just don't seem to fit in with the group."
"Don't I do my work well?"
"Yes, but you don't seem to belong. We like men who consider themselves part of The Company, not just people who work here."
In the end he had found a job in a large travel agency in the center of Philadelphia. This is a business in which everyone at least pretends to be cynical about his work, so Westing was able to keep his position no matter how he acted. Of course by this time he had learned to keep his mouth shut.
All around him he watched people signing up. "You've got to have something bigger than yourself," they said. "You've got to belong."
He watched them do it and went on living his own life. He loved concerts and books and plays. He loved his friends, who were good company and whom he saw often. He loved a couple of girls, too, and hoped that someday he would love one well enough to marry her.