He had bought her good dinners in the past and besides, although he was not a very attractive man—his eyes were muddy and he tended to speak out of the side of his mouth—he was kind to her in an impersonal way. He took her to a nightclub where a reddish-skinned obese Negro woman sang off-color songs, accompanying herself at a small studio piano in the middle of the dance floor. “From the old days in Paris, she was famous then…” said the teacher who had already told her he’d never been to Europe. “But you wouldn’t know about those days,” he added.

He took her to her apartment. “You have allure,” he said and kissed her. His saliva was abundant and sour. She fought him off, thinking she might have to scream for Samuel. But abruptly the teacher let go of her. “You’re a poor wild thing,” he said in his dry flat voice. “You’re not serious.”

A nearly irresistible impulse made her clamp her mouth shut. His disappointment shamed her; she was ready to say “I love you” to this sandy old stranger, even now tidily arranging his shirt, which had escaped his belt during their struggle.

“Why aren’t you in school? Why don’t you live in a real home?” he asked, as though these elementary considerations had only just now occurred to him.

She hastened to explain. She hadn’t always lived this way, alone. It was true that her father was a wanderer and his arrangements for her welfare were erratic and tended to break down, but she had been to school, even high school. It had just petered out, and she guessed her father thought she was old enough to be on her own now.

“How does he expect you to eat unless you’re fed by men?” he asked her shrewdly. The question was like a blow; she had no answer.

“You need a mother,” said the teacher. Then he told her he wouldn’t be seeing her again. He shook her hand formally. He had certain needs, he explained. Someday, she would understand.

A few days later, in sculpture class, a middle-aged woman confided to Annie in a loud whisper that she was going to California. “Thomas Wolfe said you can’t go home again, but I can. I’m sick of this insane climate and all these rotten people. I’ve been watching you. You’re not rotten, that’s why I’m telling you what I’m telling you.” She invited Annie to tea that afternoon.