It had been a narrow escape. I hadn't realized at the time the dangers with which I was flirting, the precarious nature of the world of property ownership we had almost entered: that world of intimate, complicated, aggravating relationships with painters, plumbers, carpenters, gardeners, and electricians. Much of the conversation at diinner parties was devoted to the intricacies of these relationships, the degree of sensitivity they required. And although they were always amusing tales, told with the lightness and gaiety suitable to the occasion, I could glimpse the soul suffering that lay behind...

No man who owns his own house and lot can be a Communist, he has too much to do.