Women’s Lib

Women as Feminists

Mr. Clean sat on an ottoman in a window corner of the immaculate penthouse apartment, buffing his nails. He wore his lounging clothes: burnished moccasins, long black socks, madras Bermudas and a yellow tennis shirt with the insignia of his club on the left breast. He was carefully barbered and wore a proper cologne. Mrs. Clean, Nordic, sat across from him in covert slacks and white cashmere pullover. She was on the love-seat under a Braque, hers, reading the Left Quarterly. She put it aside.