Charlotte slammed the door in his face.
She stood for a minute, listening for his voice or footsteps. There weren't any.
"That was awfully mean. There must have been a nicer way to write him out."
She went to the table and poured herself a new glass of wine.
"Oh, of course, that's right I'm the bitch, I'm not supposed to care," she said. "Over-sexed, self-indulgent femme fatale who uses men and then discards them, that's my profile, right? I wish I weren't such a dull, misogynistic stereotype. Oh well, poor Robert, at least he got one good lay before he had to go."
She sipped her wine, and then she put a finger to her chin in thought.
"But wait, I just realized, there are no other characters," she said. "Now that he's gone, I don't have anything to do.
"And that must mean that my story is coming to an end!"