But not once in these ten years had they borne blossom or fruit. The lady reseated herself, watching him expectantly. If he decided to watch television upstairs with his mother, she would probably retire before he did, but she was a light sleeper. Petite build, like herself. “That cannot happen!” She replied, feeling her world start to disintegrate underneath her feet. 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. And it's a maxim of universal application: or, at least, of universal practice.
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