Anna and Chris made me at ease the first day in their polished living roomㅡ though I was not sure why these people would bother putting themselves out for me at all. And when they kept inviting me back for dinner parties and extending their hospitality, I wondered if maybe they were bored, or if their ignorance of American types was such that they failed to see that I was not at all of their social class: I kept expecting some crude regional expression to betray me; and, once I thought of it in those terms, I knew I would have to make sure they saw that side of meㅡ to do less would be like trying to “pass.” Yet whatever I said seemed to make no difference in their acceptance. I then susspected that my rough-edgedness itself was entertaining to them as a source of vitality, their diversion-of-the-month. This would have made more sense if the Hodgkinsons were bored, dried-up people who needed to feast on any new stranger, but they were not; they were in the world and leading stimulation lives and I finally had to come to the anxious conclusion that they simply liked me.
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