All I knew was that she was a schoolteacher—a temporary job—and I got the impression that she wasn’t happy.
“Sorry to butt in on you.”
“What do you want now?”
“Forgive me asking an indelicate question, but how are you for money?”
“What do you mean? I don’t get it.”
For a split second, I hesitated. The studio was a single large room. The table was strewn with books and papers. Her mug was doing duty as a wineglass. The cat was lapping up a saucer of milk.
“I’m afraid I’ve got to put your rent up.”
She looked pale and drawn. Tears were beginning to well in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Ruth, I really am.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“It’s getting late; I don’t want to take up any more of your time. Sorry to trouble you.”
She slammed the door shut.
“By the way, pay in advance if you can.” I stopped and listened, straining my ears for any sound. Somewhere within, a harp was playing.
Source: New Oxford American Dictionary