Anna’s pace slowed as much as legally possible without being labeled a Peeping Tom as she looked into those windows, telling herself that if a woman went around showing everything she owned, people couldn’t really be blamed for looking, could they? For Anna, the same thing applied when it came to window-peeping. After all, who but a show-off would light up the inside of his or her house like a Christmas tree, and leave the drapes or shades up? It was as if those people were saying to Anna, Look, garbage picker, at the things you won’t ever have, no matter how many castoffs you grub out of Dumpsters and garbage cans.
And despite the imagined insult implied by the showy, well-lit windows, Anna willingly went along with it, eagerly looked at what others apparently sought to rub her face in,
