I hate pianos, tenants’ pianos. They can make a landlady suffer so hideously. Lumbering tanks awaiting the touch (often unskilled) that will make them spill horrible noise, spitting it through their black and white teeth. First the dreadful bump, bump of arrival, cruel gasps of men with backs bent–bruised…
Once I turned a zinc pail down over the head of a widow tenant. She was on the top step of my back stair; I was on the landing above. She would neither pay nor go. The law had told me I must retain certain of her possessions until…
Nice-looking couple. He had a courtesy that was slightly foreign. She blushed readily and was gentle, had dainty smartness from shoes to the chic little hat that looked to have flown to the top of her head and perched there at just the right angle. In my garden she…
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