“You get a lot of bills,” he said, “for a girl living in a one-room schmalch. You buy your clothes—or what else?—at Metter’s? Interesting.” “I—take an odd size.” He said, “And Sax and Crombie shoes.” “In my work—” she began, but he cut her off with a convulsive swipe of his hand. “Don’t give me that,” he grated. “Look in my closet. You won’t see much there. Nothing out of the ordinary, except that what I do have is good. I’d rather have a little amount of something good . . .” Her words trailed off. “You know,” she said vaguely, “than a lot of junk.” Jason said, “You have another apartment.”
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