One need only read the first lines of Tess Slesinger’s title story—or indeed any of her stories—to know that hers is a unique literary voice, one that rivets a reader’s attention to the page from the very beginning and holds it to the very end. Hers is, one soon discovers, also a wholly feminine voice: compelling, filled with insight, acute at observation, sure of its tone, and everywhere discovering the reality behind human appearances and pretensions. This is a remarkable collection of short stories by a brilliant young writer who was cut off in her prime when she died of cancer in 1945. “An intensely feminine book, in which bleakness, unemployment, heartache and heartlessness are combined with an agreeable feeling of settling down for conversation with an intimate, disillusioned, gossipy, malicious and often witty friend.”—
New Statesman
. “A genuine short-story writer…she has a good eye for the little tombstones of life.”—
Nation
.