Often, when she stopped in front of a jeweler's shop, she heard him stammering something behind her.

And what he said was true; she would have liked to have had a cross with a velvet neck-band, or a pair of coral earrings, so small you would have thought they were drops of blood.
More and more, as she plodded through the mire of the streets, getting splashed by passing vehicles and being dazzled by the magnificence of the window displays, she felt longings that tortured her like hunger pangs, yearnings for better clothes, for eating in restaurants, for going to the theatre, for a room of her own with nice furniture.

Right at those moments, it never failed that her old gentleman would come up to whisper something in her ear.

Oh, if only she wasn't afraid of him, how readily she would have taken up with him.
When the winter arrived, life became impossible at home.

Nana had her hiding every night.