I live in two rooms on the third floor of

a brownstone in Brooklyn.  As I have no doorman, and

my parsimonious landlord pretends that there is no intercom system

because it would ruin the design of the nineteenth-century front

hall, it is impossible to control what my landlord calls

the ingresses and egresses of the house.  There are two

doors to the house, one opening into the entrance hall,

the second interior door leading to the stairs.  I know

that it is not a very safe system, just pushing

the buzzer and allowing whoever has rung downstairs to enter.

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Paraphrases from the novel In the Cut by Susanna Moore.

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