When I came home, well, she said, Come to Scarsdale.

She gave me the key to this ten-room Tudor mansion.

And she said, Here, dear,

it's yours for however long you want it.

Every day, practically, when I was there,

the doorbell would ring,

and another delivery would take place:

a TV,

a silver tea set,

a velvet smoking jacket.

She was drowning me in luxuries.

When I went through that door and she gave me the key,

I got terrified.

In her living room, on every table

was my photograph.

It would seem very obvious

that she was falling in love with me.

I lived there for a year.

I started to feel trapped.

[applause]