It's like this:

It’s like this: Pete will take it. Mom won’t say a thing. You go out, sew all day, have lines in your fingers from where the needles press, a couple of dollars and some dimes and he better not find out you kept a dime for yourself.

Don’t let him kiss you when he leans in. Stand in the doorway, don’t step through and for God’s sake don’t stand with your back against the wall or the icebox or the door. Have air behind you.

Maybe keep your overcoat on, or a sweater, even in the summer.

He’ll smell like onions and garlicky lamb and sour yogurt if you’re lucky. If he smells like beer or it’s after 10 o’clock or the lights are out when you are walking up the sidewalk, I don’t know what to tell you.

Have the cash out, I guess. Don’t make him wait. OK, that’s what. Have the money out.

Get up the stairs and close the door and turn the key. But listen for the door in case I come home later and unlock the door for me when you hear me coming up the steps.

Don’t come out looking if you hear the door but don’t hear me coming up the steps.

Don’t cry, Jeannie. Don’t get that look. I don’t know why Mom… it doesn’t matter, it’s how things are. Come here, hug me. You look nice, honey, when you smile. Try to smile. See? I’m smiling, it helps, doesn’t it?

I think there’s a new movie at the RKO, with Cary Grant. Do you want to see it?

We should go now.