She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. I was a novelty. I’m not mad that he has eyes for you instead of me, not mad at all. Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. It was she who had come out from the flat only a few minutes before. Never had he been so intrigued. ” Anna was silent. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. I know now what it is to be an abandoned female.
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