"That is enough," said Lonoff. "Quite thorough, very accurate, and enough."
"Fondling those papers of yours! Oh, she'll see! I got fondled more by strangers on the rush-hour subway during two months in 1935 than I have up here in the last twenty years! Take off your coat, Amy - you're staying. The classroom daydream has come true! You get the creative writer - and I get to go!"
"She's not staying," Lonoff said, softly again. "You're staying."
"Not for thirty-five more years of this!"
"Oh, Hopie." He put a hand out to her face, where the tears were still falling.
"I'm going to Boston! I'm going to Europe! It's too late to touch me now! I'm taking a trip around the world and never coming back! And you," she said, looking down at Amy in her chair, "you won't go anywhere. You won't see anything. If you ever go out to dinner, if once in six months you get him to accept an invitation to somebody's home, then it'll be even worse - then for the hour before you go your life will be misery from his kvetching about what it's going to be like when people start in with their ideas. If you dare to change the pepper mill, he'll ask what's the matter, what was wrong with the old one? It takes three months for him just to get used to a new brand of soap. Change the soap and he goes around the house sniffing, as though something dead is on the bathroom sink instead of just a bar of Palmolive. Nothing can be touched, nothing can be changed, everybody must be quiet, the children must shut up, their friends must stay away until four - There is his religion of art, my young successor: rejecting life! Not living is what he makes his beatiful fiction out of! And you will now be the person he is not living with!"